Party Favor
by Courtanie
Summary: Token getting his mother off his back about finding himself a special someone was easy enough with a pay rate and a rather convincing actor. Finding out acting alongside him was so natural however? Not so easy. (Tokyle)
1. Chapter 1

Returning home from school was always more of a chore than a pleasure. Somewhere in the mess of frantically attempting to pack everything from essentials to care package gifts to shove into his tiny two-door BMW, Token had found himself wishing more and more that he could simply move permanently to sunny Claremont and only have to take a duffle to trek back home to his snowy mountain town.

Beyond all hope and probably the laws of physics, however, he'd managed to stuff his little graduation present tight, blocking the view of his back windshield with boxes of clothes and books he just couldn't find it in himself to return for that oh-so-generous refund of a whopping thirty dollars total. A long and arduous fifteen hours later, he finally managed to pull into the drive of his childhood home, still standing tall and proud; an eyesore by all means against the meager background of his simple hometown.

South Park was always a different land in the midst of summertime. A lack of snow but still an occasional brisk chill in the air that no one could explain, so they merely accepted it with lightweight jackets and a whole mess of bitching up a storm. Some would just attribute it to altitude, some would shake a fist at climate change, and Craig would tell him that it was because South Park was Hell, and it was finally freezing over. No matter the source, it didn't matter much. Token's mother made damn sure his closet was full of breathable sweaters for his return, knowing he was in for a hell of a change coming from the scorching heat of California back to "real life" as she called it.

No, Token thought, stretching out on his king-sized mattress and listening to the slight crackle of his spine with a yawn. Real life was struggling through school, lying in a single's bed with a lumpy mattress and trying to block out the sound of his roommate tripping on acid going into vivid detail on how fascinating the odd crack in their wall was. Real life was trekking through the hell of people _begging_ him to be in the damn pamphlets for the college so they could showcase their "diversity". Real life was flipping from relationship to relationship, getting in too deep with someone before realizing they were an absolute nut job with a god complex who thought they were "too cultured" to be locked in with their peers.

That's what he got for going to a liberal arts school, he'd finally reasoned well into his third year.

But that's what was nice about coming home: That kind of bleeding heart mentality only when it was socially convenient didn't fly here. Either you were an inherently good person, or you were a jackass. Hiding behind a veil of deceitful conscious was immediately discovered, and people were rightfully called out on their true intentions. It was loud-mouths and rednecks, blunt truths and dismantled false agendas.

It was home.

And home had been waiting for him, immediately getting a slew of texts from buddies either already back in town or well on their way from their own college adventures, telling him that they saw him driving down one of their only three main roads in his conspicuous vehicle. His schedule was already packed with offers of get-togethers and slurrin' soirees, as Kenny had dubbed them after everyone's freshman year. Token knew himself well enough to know he'd only attend a handful, perhaps even only two or three. Parties were just never his _thing_.

An incessant dinging of his phone on the bedspread beside of him, however, just _insisted_ that they needed to be.

 **Clyde**  
 _'Token, r u coming'  
'Answer me!'  
'Token we haven't seen u since winter u gotta come'  
'David throws the best parties it's awesome'  
'Token'  
'Token answer me'_

 **Craig  
** _'Take it OFF the group chat if you're gonna fuckin' keep this shit up, Donovan'_

 **Clyde**  
 _'Well he won't answer! Gotta tell David to buy more shit if the party monster is coming! ;p'_

Token rolled his eyes, a small snort sifting through his nostrils.

 **Token  
** _'Dude. I got drunk at like two parties. A "monster" I am not.'  
'Besides, I'm sure he's plenty stocked up regardless of the invite list.'  
'And focus on driving, you retard. Can't keg stand if you're in a damn coma.'_

 **Clyde**  
 _'Wanna bet?'  
'Soooooooooooooo is that a yes?'_

 **Tweek**  
 _'FOCUS ON THE ROAD, CLYDE. JESUS!'  
_

 **Craig  
** _'Let him crash. I wanna see him convince his dad to buy him a fourth car.'  
'Token, me and Tweek are going to meet Jimmy for a beer in a few, you in?'_

Token hummed, looking up at his ceiling in thought. His bed was _so_ damn comfortable… But then again, he'd rather see the guys again _before_ a shitfaced shitfest where they could barely hear themselves think.

 **Token  
** _'Sure. I'll be there in about twenty.'_

 **Clyde  
** _'SO YOU'LL ANSWER HIM AND NOT ME'  
'WTF TOKEN I'M YOUR BEST FRIEND'  
'Right?'  
'I'm your best friend right?'  
'TOKEN ANSWER ME'_

 **Token  
** _'See you guys in a few!'_

 **Clyde  
** _'TOKEN WTF'_

Token smirked, flipping his phone to silent and slipping it into his jeans pocket, letting it have a mini seizure full of Clyde's brutal offense. He let out a tiny, inconvenienced groan as he sat himself up, eyeing the suitcases and dented cardboard boxes by his closet waiting for him to dump their contents around his floor. He grumbled, knowing his father would be giving him a half-awake stern lecture by tomorrow morning that he had left such a "mess" in _his_ house that _he_ paid for on top of Token's college tuition. It was nothing new, but it was nothing Token enjoyed revisiting at the end of every year either.

With a long sigh, he slipped the distance down to let his shoes touch the floor, rubber soles squeaking against polished oak. He could feel the stretching and popping of his joints as he stood upright, wincing and wondering how the damn hell a twenty-two-year-old could sound like they're a minute away from osteoporosis medication. He attributed it to far too many hours spent in the campus library pouring over scholarly articles about the damn Glorious Revolution.

Nothin' glorious about back pains and eye strain.

He made way out of his room, patting his pockets for his wallet and feeling a brief moment of instinctive panic not feeling his dorm key. He rolled his eyes at himself, wondering if he'd ever shed the habit before venturing down the hall and towards the long staircase awaiting him.

The distinctive clatter of Teflon pots caught his ear and he grimaced as he meandered his way down, knowing his mother was worming her way through their kitchen searching for yet another vat to go to the stove for one of her damn new recipes. Every year like clockwork, a mom who had previously made a production out of weekly meals of plain, baked chicken and organic salad would be overjoyed that her baby was home, and would go way out of her way to make him lavish meals.

If she was a better damn cook, he might have enjoyed the spoiling.

He poked his head into the kitchen, nearly wincing at the setting sun through the bay windows blasting against the glass-door cabinets and reflecting straight against his corneas. "Whatcha doing, Mom?" he asked, watching her poke her head from her scavenging and shooting him a smile.

"Looking for the stockpot," she proclaimed, beaming with premature pride at the endeavor she was building towards.

He snorted, pointing towards the door against the right wall. "That's in the pantry."

"…Who moved it?"

"I did. When we bought it. Six years ago," he said flatly, shaking his head as she stood and toed the cabinet shut, bustling her way towards the dictated pantry. He'd had to teach himself to cook, his parents spending many a late night at their respective companies and needing more than goddamn Kraft Mac n Cheese to sate his pallet. He was still a novice at best, but he knew how to sauté and how to not undercook his meats, so he figured he was already well-educated enough in the culinary arts.

He watched her pull out the tall, stainless steel pot, wrapping her arms around it like a toddler. "I'm goin' out with the guys," he informed her.

She looked at him again, face falling into a pout. "But you just got home!"

"It's only for a few drinks," he promised, taking a single step into the kitchen and leaning over, snagging his car keys off the hook hanging around the corner. "I'll be back home for dinner."

"You _better_ ," she warned, setting the pot atop the stove and shifting to face him, arms crossed in a sign of betrayal.

Token gulped, faltering a bit at the tired lines around her eyes that hadn't been so present in his youth. Coming home after such long getaways really put it in perspective, that he now towered over her height and she had sparse gray strands racking through pulled-back dark hair. A mandatory Intro to Psychology class had forced him to confront the elements of grief he would more-than-likely have to face down the road. He'd hated it, having to spare the rare call to his parents just to hear them and be able to work through his damn paper on the Kübler-Ross model without a mucked clot of anxiety trying to clutter his chest.

"I will," he assured her.

"You have to be home next Friday night though," she said, pivoting on her heel to tend to a colander of half-diced, half-cubed zucchini.

He raised his brow, "Uh… why?"

"Your _father_ is having another of his parties," she scoffed, fiddling with a scrap of pristine cheesecloth.

Token groaned, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "Partners?"

"And their families. And too many clients to keep track of. I have to hire a _caterer_."

He winced, knowing her utter disdain for having strangers in her home playing the homemaker role. "Great," he sighed.

"But…" she paused, perking up a bit and looking at him with a smile. "A few young men your age will be here. Or close enough," she shrugged. "Could mingle… maybe get to know them…" she raised her brows.

He frowned. Every time. Why did she do this _every time?_

"Mom. Not interested," he said sharply.

A "cowardly", as Craig had put it, coming out to his parents a mere hour before they had to leave him alone at his dorm for his first semester had gone better than expected, and yet somehow _worse_. His mom meant well, he knew she did. But trying to _join him_ in finding himself potential partners had been a trial he was not and was never going to be prepared for. She didn't seem to understand how the _chances_ of finding someone out and open were low enough, narrowing it down to people _willing_ to date him put an even smaller vignette around his potentials.

It was easy enough to find boyfriends and flings at his ridiculously open college, but finding one that _stuck_ seemed an all-but-impossible task.

His mother's face fell in yet another pout and Token cringed. If there was one thing Linda Black was great at, it was playing the overworked mother who just wanted what was best for her only child. "But, _Token_ ," she stressed. "You said you were lonely at school!"

"Because all my friends are scattered around the west?" he waved his arms a bit in emphasis, his keys jangling from his fingers. "Mom, it happens. That doesn't mean I need someone-"

"It would make you feel better," she interrupted. "Having someone-"

"That's living here would be annoying," he finished. "Then I go to school and don't get to see them."

She wagged her finger to halt his thought, " _But_ , you can always come home for a visit. That would make it easier for you. Plus, I don't want you getting involved with one of those… _California_ children," she said, the word leaving her tongue like a punctured canister of turpentine. He rolled his eyes. He didn't get his parent's disparity for his peers. After all, he hadn't exactly come from _humble_ routes and found himself in the middle of rich culture. He missed the simplicity of home, sure, but he wasn't exactly _changing himself_ to fit in with Pomona society. Growing up in the town's only damn mansion and being called the Rich Kid for the majority of his life didn't exactly make him an underdog in a wealthy man's world.

But his dad's friend's kids… They were the other side of the coin. Very aware of their trust funds and _very_ boastful about it. He could recall sitting with a group of them on the patio when he was fifteen at a New Year's celebration, texting Craig, Jimmy, Tweek, and Clyde the entire time, only participating when addressed. He'd listened to them prattle on and on about their _lackluster_ Christmas gifts; the $1200 shopping spree and the _ugly_ luxury car before even having a license and the _pitiful excuse_ for a new bedroom set of pure bocote. He'd thought about the Xbox he'd received that December, the one that was already out for two years before he'd asked to receive it and how _thrilled_ he'd been at just finding that under the tree with the three games he'd requested.

Token grimaced. The lesson from childhood still rang clear: He really didn't fit in with either level of social class.

"Token," Linda's voice got him back to attention. "You can at least try. You have all summer and some of them have _very_ nice lake houses you could spend time at with them."

" _We_ have a very nice lake house," he reminded her with an eye roll. "Don't need someone else's. Mom, I really don't think-"

"I won't hear another word," she cut him off. "We'll go shopping next week and get you something nice to wear. They'll be all over you. Now, go on and meet your friends. Be home by eight." She turned back to her veggies, putting an end to Token's impending rebuttals.

He stared at her before letting out a loud groan and turning on his heel, practically stomping his way on the long rug towards the front door. He ripped it open and nearly shivered at a gust of cool air on his bared arms from his tee shirt, but paid it no mind as he stepped out and slammed the door behind him, hearing the brass of the knocker rattling with the force. Great.

 _Just. Fucking. Great._


	2. Chapter 2

He just goddamn knew it.

Knew as soon as he got home he was going to be dealing with his mother, but he hadn't expected their altercation to take a staggering forty minutes worth of lecture. He could hear her on the phone from upstairs, lamenting her woes to her sister about the _horror_ she'd just put him through. This was going to follow him throughout the rest of his lifetime. It was going to be the last thing his mother mentioned on her deathbed.

She would be staring at the ceiling, face pale and eyes glimmering with a fading misery, throwing her arms open and crying why oh _why_ did Kyle have to get a _B-_ in Comparative Politics? How could he have _possibly_ so _grievously_ mixed up South America and India's separate influences when she had given him _every advantage_? Then she'd pass, cursing him being a failure before goin' on to talk off God's ear about where she could have gone wrong in his upbringing.

He grunted, arms burning with the weight of his suitcases as he lugged them up the way. He passed by Ike's room, getting nothing more than an acknowledging nod before turning back to his laptop. Kyle rolled his eyes, knowing his dad was locked off in his study, having ran like a coward once his mother's lectures began. What a welcome wagon he had. Same as always, indifference and disappointment, soon to be followed by a seemingly endless contradictory coddling and sobbing that he eventually had to go back to school. He really should be used to it after three years, but he damn well wasn't gonna enjoy it.

Kyle hissed as he finally got to his room, dragging his bags behind him and cursing under his breath, eyes scanning about the immaculate state of his space and letting out a huff. No doubt his mother kept up her damn cleaning sprees, always claiming to do so for the sake of his allergies, but he knew well enough the innards of his damn nightstand drawers weren't accumulating any significant amount of skin cell debris. Whatever, he surmised, plopping down on his bed face-first and groaning into his pillow. Another year and he wouldn't have to come home more than he wanted to. Why his dorm wouldn't just let him _stay there_ during the damn holidays was beyond him. As much as he was accumulating in loans and paying for his room, he should've been allowed to make fucking full-fledged renovations.

A sudden loud crash and a chorused scream of "HEY DICKHEAD" jerked him into panicked motion with a startled yell, immediately grabbing his pillow from under him and whipping it back behind him in direction of the sound.

He flipped over on his bed, chest rising and falling rapidly with green eyes blown wide before they blinked at Stan and Kenny standing outside his opened closet, Kenny holding his nose with a whine and Stan barely managing to stifle a laugh.

"What the _fuck_ , you two!" he snapped, fear falling in lieu of annoyance.

"Hey, least we ain't throwin' _weapons_ at people," Kenny drawled, hand dropping and a pout on his lip. "Try t' s'prise ya and ya act like the damn army busted through."

He rolled his eyes, moving to stand on the floor. "It was a _pillow_ , McCormick. Be thankful it wasn't one of my textbooks."

Stan snorted, elbowing Kenny. "Most reading material he would've had all year."

" _Rude_. Ya gotta read the Ramen instructions, Stanny," he smirked, moving and dragging Stan over to Kyle and throwing his arms out, wrapping them both in while letting out an excited, long hum. "My dudes are hooooome," he sang, nuzzling into Kyle's hair. "It's the most _wonderful_ time of the year."

Kyle's scowl finally broke for a smile, unable to comprehend how he'd forgotten the _best_ part of coming back to Colorado. With Stan in Boulder, Kyle in Washington, Cartman off in Texas, and poor Kenny still stuck suffering in South Park, getting to see one another all at once was a treat, and Kenny would always be counting down the days until the gang was all back and spend every moment he could with them. It was the only thing that reminded Kyle _why_ coming home was so damn important to do. He chuckled, returning the embrace with Stan and squeezing their waists. "I actually missed you fucks before you decided to camp out in my closet like a couple a' stalkers, ya know," he teased.

Stan grinned, offering him a shrug, "If it makes you feel any better, we suffered waiting for you to get away from your mom."

"Ugghhhh," he groaned, dropping out of their embrace and putting his face in his hands with the reminder. " _One_ B- and she swears that I'm off snorting cocaine and spending all my time grinding at clubs, Dude."

Kenny smiled sympathetically, patting a tuft of curls atop his head. "To be fair, ain't it the first?"

"Yes, I just fucked up one paper and it tanked me," he whined. "Just… God _forbid_ there's a minute chance I'm not gonna be summa or some shit, so obviously I'm dropping out and gonna be a prostitute."

Stan nodded, "I mean if that works for ya, go for it. Figure your boyfriend wouldn't find that to be a great move."

Kyle's face fell and theirs followed suit. Kenny moved his hand to his shoulder and winced, "What happened? What'd he do?"

"We broke up like, a month ago," he muttered, crossing his arms and scoffing.

He pouted, "Why didn't you tell me you tell me _everything_ about datin' that's our damn pact. We pinky swore!"

Kyle glanced up at him and shrugged, "I wasn't too keen on telling _anyone_. He cheated on me."

Stan gave him the mandatory arm-touch of solidarity, nodding solemnly. "I'm sorry, Dude. That's rough."

He barked out a laugh, "No. _Rough_ would be someone telling me about it or finding it on his phone. What _I_ dealt with was walking in on him in his room fucking someone else."

"Dude."

"No, no, it gets _better_ ," he scoffed, hand flying up for emphasis. "Take a _wild_ guess how many gay and out redheads are at my school. Go on, _guess_."

Kenny looked up in thought, "Uh, I'm gonna go ahead and assume two."

"Ding ding ding," he drawled. "Hooked up with the other guy because 'well he kinda looks like you, but he isn't as _annoying_ '," he quoted. "Mind you he tells me this while he's _balls-deep_ in this other guy."

Stan scowled, "What the actual fuck? I'm gonna kill him."

"Yeah, only _we_ can call you annoying," Ken nodded. "'Sides, weren't you like, letting him slide with some really shitty stuff?"

"You mean the rampant alcoholism and the tendency to use dating me as both a bragging right or a point of charitable shame depending on the audience?" he gave an eye-twitching smile. "Yeah. Sure was. But hey, I was pretty awful myself during finals week. He was so damn sure that the best way to stop me from venting about how frustrated I was was to stick his dick in my mouth, but god forbid I wasn't in the mood so I was just… a step away from being Satan incarnate at that point; he _had_ to save himself."

"Jesus," Stan said in disgust, "Dude, I'm sorry."

He waved him off, "Don't be. Like, I'm still pissy about the situation but, I honestly could not care less that he's gone…" He paused. "Though, if either of you tells that story to Fatass, you will _actually_ be sorry," he warned, looking at them both for concurrent nods. "When's he getting back anyway?"

Kenny dug through his pocket, yanking out his phone and clicking his tongue. "Uh, 'bout four or five hours, he said he'll see us tomorrow."

Kyle relaxed into a smile, "Good. A whole _night_ without him to recuperate. What are we doing where are we going _please_ get me away from my mother," he clasped his hands in front of him, looking at them for ideas.

Stan and Kenny glanced at each other, giving a grin of consensus before looking back at their shorter companion. Kenny beamed, "All right, we're gonna do this high school style. Welcome to your break-up recovery weekend, Broflovski," he threw his arm around his shoulder, gesturing in front of them dramatically before holding up a hand to stop his impending response. "Yes, yes, you've had a month, but you didn't recover the _proper_ way. Tonight, we shall convene at Lord Marsh's abode for pizza, chips, beer, and horror movies where the majority of dying people are those of your loser significant other's gender. We will spend our time telling each character that they got axed due to… what was his name?"

"Darryl."

"God, what a fag name. But yes, due to _Darryl's_ flaws. And tomorrow, we shall venture to David's, where you will be _thrust_ into a throng of our peers. You will be drunk. You will be stupid. I will send you home with someone who will take care of ya real nice. Then you will wake up with regret and feel rather sticky, but you will know that no matter how little you remember, it was far better than Darryl's baby penis."

Kyle couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head. "Okay, how about no hook-up, but I still get drunk enough you have to drag me home?"

He winked, clicking his tongue, "You don't want me dragging you home, Babe. Who _knows_ what I would do with you, you get so _pawsy_ when you drink. Stanny, however, can be our designated Kyle lookout."

"Why me?" Stan whined.

"Because I think with my dick and Cartman would drag him off into the woods and tie him to a tree."

"…Okay. Fair," he conceded. "Next party, Kyle's the lookout."

"Agreed," Kyle nodded, leaning into Kenny's arm. "Why can't people in Washington solve problems like us? They only wanna drink _craft beer_ and they just wanna talk about their feelings over coffee or some shit," he rolled his eyes.

Kenny grinned, shaking him. "Because ain't no party like a South Park party 'cause a South Park party is nothin' but rednecks and nothin' else to do."

Stan scoffed, rolling his eyes, "Isn't just our parties."

"Well not _all of us_ can live in a hoppin' college town," Kyle drawled, gently kicking at his leg. "I'm still in a mountain town, just with hipsters who yell if you don't make compost."

Kenny snorted, awkwardly angling his hand to pat against his chest. "Better than here, though?"

"Well there doesn't have you, Ken so how can it _possibly_ be better?" he smiled, elbowing his ribs.

"Damn _straight_. Why don't you love me that much, Stanny boy?" he threw on a quick pout.

Stan shook his head, huffing out a small laugh, "Sorry, I think Kyle covers the corny gay well enough for both of us."

Kyle kicked him again with a smirk, "Homophobe. C'mon, let's go to the store and the hell outta dodge…" he paused. "Ma _knows_ you two are here, right?"

They let out a simultaneous "uhhhh", looking towards Kyle's unlocked window.

He rolled his eyes. "All right. Meet you two at my car."

"Wait, she wouldn't be _that_ mad-" Stan stopped with a wry expression falling on Kyle's face. All right. Sheila _would_ be that mad. An experience in tenth grade had made that quite clear, Kyle taking nearly a month to veer her away from her idea of sticking bars on all the windows after she'd caught the three of them and Cartman at ten o'clock playing video games. Because _"if your friends can get in so easily, so can a predator, Bubbie"_.

"I can only assume you bribed Ike to unlock it in the first place?" Kyle asked, arms crossed. An impish shrug on Kenny's behalf told him enough, letting out a tiny snort. "Well, good luck. I know getting down that tree's a shit-ton harder than goin' up."

"You _would_ be the expert on goin' down, Broflovski," Kenny called after him as he turned and walked towards his door, given no more than a laugh and a middle finger as he exited the room, shutting the barrier behind him.

Kyle paused, hearing Stan cussing up a storm trying to lift his window back up and laughing to himself. He made way across the hall, poking his head in Ike's room and shaking his head at him not breaking contact from his game. "How much they give you?"

"Twenty bucks and a college girl's number," Ike answered, not missing a beat. "Ken tried to give me more, but Stan stopped him. Your buttbuddy is a fuckin' cockblocker, ya know that?"

Kyle shook his head, "Ike, you don't wanna be with girls on Kenny's list. There's a reason they're on _his_ list."

"Yeah. They're easy," he drawled.

"Hm, you're gonna make some girl so happy one day," he scoffed. "Gonna tell this story at your damn wedding."

"Who says you're invited?" Ike said, finally pausing his game and whirling around, arm catching the back of his chair to stare at his brother. "So, feel weird not prancing around throwing flowers and singin' Kumbaya?"

Kyle rolled his eyes, "What the hell do you think I'm in school for?"

"A masters in takin' it up the ass."

"That's my _minor_ , thank you," he said, leaning against his doorframe. "So. How are things here?"

Ike sighed, turning his chair and flopping back against it dramatically. "Same ol'. Mom's crazy, Dad's crazy, I just want them to leave me alone. All I ever hear about is _you_ and you're fuckin' fifteen hundred miles away."

He shrugged, "Eh, lil less than that. The hell do they rant about?"

Ike scoffed, "Well, Mom thinks you're out of your mind and Dad thinks she's overreacting but wants _me_ to be a lawyer since you refused to like a putz."

Kyle gave him a sympathetic shrug, "Don't listen to 'im unless you wanna, Dude. Gotta do what's right for you… even if they only help pay for your general courses," he muttered bitterly. "Still don't get that one. Not like I'm majoring in basketweaving or some shit."

"I think Mom would've preferred that to politics," Ike input. "It's _'too divided'!_ " voice going up a few octaves to mock her, wagging his finger. _"You're setting yourself up for assassination, young man!"_

Shoulders shaking with laughter, Kyle nodded. "Yeah. Lawyers never get killed by spurned clients or what-have-you. I should go and tell her I'm a volunteer cop while I'm at it. Might mak 'er choke on her challah."

"Challah Choker. New guild name, thank you," Ike saluted, turning back to his game.

Kyle shook his head, "Doesn't work with the pronunciation, numb nuts."

"You think _these_ people know that?" he gestured at his screen. "I'm playing a server with guys from school. The fact that they know how to pronounce more than _Pabst_ is a miracle."

He smirked, "Call it _Challah at Me_ , least it's closer."

Ike paused, head bobbing in consideration before waving him away. "Okay, you're done now you can leave."

Kyle scoffed, standing back up, "Good to see you, too, Bro," he said, getting nothing more than a grunt. He sighed, rolling back his shoulders and making his way down his staircase, still hearing his mother ranting away and feeling a tension rising along his spine.

He just couldn't figure any of it out, how his mother swung on such a pendulum depending on her audience. So _audibly_ upset with his choice of major to him and his father and Ike, but was all but gloating her heart out to extended family members and friends around town. Kyle could never pinpoint where he was with her, always terrified that she was going to yell him into the ground for slipping up or bracing himself for her putting on that damn social face of a Jewish mother's beaming pride for her eldest son. He wondered if Stan had to deal with the same tightrope dance with Sharon, though he highly doubted it. His mom was just too damn happy that Stan was out there trying to make something of himself, no matter what it was. And Carol couldn't give two shits about where Kenny ended up, so long as it wasn't in the gutter beside his father.

Kyle pouted. Of all things, he was jealous of fucking _Cartman_ , whose mother wouldn't stop _prancing_ with pride over him and his C average. How Cartman got annoyed with her doting, Kyle couldn't fathom, would trade just about anything for a few weeks of his mom not questioning his life choices and telling him that he was doing so well.

He sighed, passing her in the kitchen fussing around still clutching her cell phone. Wasn't gonna happen.

"Ma, I'm meeting the guys, I'll be back tomorrow," he called.

She looked at him, Kyle nearly flinching at the ire that overtook her eyes. "Hold on one second," she murmured, placing the phone's speaker against her chest. "You're _leaving_? You _just_ got home, Kyle!" she proclaimed, as though it were breaking news.

He frowned, "I know. But you're upset, I'm upset. I just wanna chill for a few hours with Ken and Stan, okay?"

"You _**just**_ walked in the door!"

He closed his eyes, knowing exactly what he was going to have to do here. He hated doing it, but it secured his freedom, and he'd had to do it more than once in his lifetime. Gulping, he dug his canine tooth into his tongue, pressing and pressing until finally, it began to hurt. Further he pressed before finally breaking just enough into the muscle to feel a stinging over his eyes, letting out a dramatic sniffle and looking at Sheila with glossed sclera. She paused, straightening up at the hurt over his face. "My… my boyfriend cheated on me," he whined, giving himself a dramatic wipe of his sleeve under his nose. "It… it _hurts_."

Sheila's face was aghast in horror, putting her phone back to her ear, "I'll call you back," she said, hanging up and throwing it against the counter, quickly moving towards her son and throwing her arms around his waist, stroking his back. "What happened?" she cooed, toxicity melted away in her need to comfort her child.

"He… he said I was _annoying_ and _ugly_ and _stupid_ ," he said, sniffling loudly, bending to wrap his arms back around her and hiding his rolling eyes. "The guys… the guys just wanna _help_."

"Okay, okay," she hushed him, pulling him in tighter. "You know you're not any of those things?"

"I know but… b-but I _trusted him_ ," he said, permitting himself a louder sob and hiding his face in her shoulder. "Can I _please_ just go with them? They're… they're just what I _need_ right now, Ma."

She nodded in understanding, still stroking his back. "All right, all right. Are you staying at Stanley's?"

"Y-yeah?"

"You come straight home if you need more than them, all right?"

He smirked before getting it back under control, giving her a squeeze around her shoulders. "Thanks, Ma. I-I'll call you if it gets too bad."

"It's going to be all right, Bubbeleh," she promised, rage flashing in her eyes for the boy who did her son wrong. "He was no good, I told you from the very start. He better just _pray_ he never even comes near this state."

Kyle cringed. Well. She wasn't wrong. She'd told him immediately after meeting Darryl on a Skype call that he wasn't good enough for him. Guess she wasn't wrong on _all_ lecturing aspects of his life. He nodded, giving her another squeeze and standing up straight, grabbing his keys from the kitchen table. "Thanks, Ma," he said, letting his lip wobble and feeling her watching after him in heartbreak. Forcing himself to slump and slow his stride, he made his way to the door, throwing on the _coup de grâce_ with his hand on the doorknob, turning and giving her a solemn wave as he exited out into the cooled air. Slowly shutting the door behind him, he turned to see Stan and Kenny leaning against his car in the driveway.

Kenny raised his brow at his appearance with a smirk. "Cried your way out, huh?"

He grinned, wiping his glistening eyes and shrugging, "Hey man. Gotta do whatcha gotta do. You two are just jealous you can't do it anymore."

Stan snorted, "Well no. Our moms don't think we're such pussies. Totally believable when _you_ do it, though."

A swift punch landed on his arm, Kyle flipping him off with a smirk. "Ass."

"Aww, you're still crying," he teased. "Too hard a bite?"

"Ain't ever been a problem for me," he said smoothly, Kenny immediately cackling and Stan taking a moment to process before making a disgusted noise, hands waving in front of him erratically. Kyle shrugged, spitting out a small line of blood from his tongue into the grass. "So. We going or are you gonna go on one of your hypermasculinity rants?"

"Go, we're just gonna _go_!" Stan gestured towards his car, face red and annoyance with Kyle's blatant showing of Kenny's goddamn influence on him over the years at its height. Kyle and Kenny shared a smirk before heading towards their designated car doors. A small falling out with Stan in high school had made the two of them damn near inseparable for four months with Stan spending all his time with Wendy. When Kyle and Stan finally came back to their senses and made up, they'd all melded together right back to where they were, sans Kenny and Kyle's newfound love of making Stan queasy with far-too-easy perverted conversations. Kyle claimed it was just how they bonded, Stan claimed it was going to be what drove him to run his car off a mountainside.

Kyle sat behind his steering wheel, sighing at how he melded against the damn seat he'd been confined in for nearly twenty hours on his way home. But whatever, he reasoned, looking at Stan and Kenny shooting quips at each other from the passenger and back seats, smiling to himself as he turned over the ignition and letting out a long, comforted sigh.

Despite his mother's see-sawing, and despite arriving with a weight on his shoulders he'd been lugging around by himself for a month now that he'd yet to shed in the slightest, it was _great_ to be home.


	3. Chapter 3

A part of Token had to wonder just _why_ he agreed to come out into public sometimes.

A tepid beer in his hand, a thumping stereo system in the background, and a mess of peers scattered about talking loudly and exchanging stories of their school year did not a fantastic event make. The four surrounding him were the only ones he'd wanted to hear stories from, and had already done so when they'd met up for dinner not four hours ago.

Jimmy was interning for an editorial position and was determined to make his stick-in-the-mud boss laugh just once. Clyde was riding by on a football scholarship through an English degree that even he knew he would never use. Tweek was fighting through business classes to one day inherit the family shop and "learning how to tell if one of the employees was stealing from him". And Craig was breezing through a film major and shacking up with one of his professors from his freshman year.

Aside from that, he'd learned, they were the same ol' boring group of buds who just wanted to eat, drink, and be away from their families as long as they could manage.

He sighed, taking a sip of his Sam Adams and shaking his head. Why they couldn't be somewhere else, he didn't know. The only one who seemed excited to be here was Clyde, and he'd struck out time and again trying to find his annual South Park hook-up. His eyes slowly closed. Better than being at home, he reminded himself.

A sharp elbow jabbing into his upper arm whisked his attention back to the room, whipping his head around to find Clyde looking at him expectantly. "Well?"

"Well _what_?" he asked, blinking and trying to ignore the strobing lights that David had put sporadically around his living room.

Clyde pouted, the air of sobriety long gone and a glaze over his eyes. "You never _listen_ ," he whined, smacking him lightly with the back of his hand. "I _saaaaaid_ we're gonna go to the movies next Friday night and we can chill at my place after."

Token almost nodded before stopping himself, letting out a frustrated sigh. "No, sorry, I can't. Might be able to come over super late but I have to be at my house."

Jimmy tilted his head. "Wh-why?"

"Some _stupid_ party my parents are throwing," he drawled, taking another long swig. "My mom already made me promise."

"Laaaaaame," Clyde said, hitting him again.

Tweek shrugged, fiddling with his beer label. "Least their parties aren't ya know… as _loud_ as this one!" he threw his hand into the air and gestured around. Token smirked, watching him shrink back into himself and rub at his temple, his thumbnail doing a number on the nearly detached label. Tweek only ever came to these things if they were all with him, absolutely _hated_ being in the middle of such chaos without the four of them there so he'd have a group to ground him if things seemed just too much to handle.

"They're not," he agreed, "but they _are_ hell. Especially with my mother on her war path," he rolled his eyes.

Craig finally took his attention from watching a keg-stand, slipping his gaze over to Token from the other end of the couch. His voice climbed to the bare minimum octave it had to for Token to hear him, "War path?"

He nodded, eyes going around once more. "Yeah. The whole… single thing again. You'd think I was a forty-year-old woman or some shit the way she's convinced I'm gonna die alone unless I find someone soon."

Jimmy chuckled, "Well? May… m-m-ma-ay… mm-maybe she's right. Gotta get yourself o-out there, P-p-pal."

Token scoffed, flicking his shoulder. "I don't _gotta_ do anything." His head leaned back and he let out a long, angry groan. "But she's gonna fuckin' try to _hook me up_ with one of those fuckin' _trust fund babies_."

" _You're_ a trust fund baby," Craig reminded him.

"Okay but I don't _act like it_ ," he snapped. "At least not… intentionally. But apparently, they're the best fuckin' option my mother can think of." He leaned forward putting his forehead into the hand not occupied with his beer. " _God_ it's gonna be the last three summers all over again. I can't _deal_ with her sending me on blind dates again, dudes. I fuckin' _can't_ , I'll _snap_."

Clyde shrugged, patting his shoulder from behind the back of the couch. "Tell her no?"

He raised his head, looking back at him wryly. "Wow. What a _novel_ idea I hadn't _thought of that,_ Donovan."

He pouted, "I'm just tryin' t' help."

Jimmy sniggered, grunting as he pushed himself up off the folding chair beside the couch with his crutches. "Come on, let's g-g-geee… let's get some gr-grub."

The four of them nodded, standing to follow him in a train towards the kitchen. Tweek took a sip of his drink, clearing his throat. "Is she really gonna do that to you again, Token?"

Token nodded, a heavy slump riding his shoulders. This wasn't the damn setting for this kind of discussion, needing something to punch. "Yeah, you know how she gets when I'm home. I don't know why she doesn't just _drop it_."

Clyde shrugged, "She wants ya to be happy, ya know? Be thankful for that. My mom is probably lookin' down on me and telling me to stay single so I don't kill a wife, too." The remaining four cringed, knowing he'd crossed into brutal honesty territory with that remark. He had to be at least five beers in and wouldn't hesitate to tell someone four times his size to get out of his way and they'd have to drag him away from a damn fistfight. It was their routine, they supposed. It'd be odd to change it after so many years of the damn dance.

"I think it's more _she_ wants to be happy, my happiness is just kind of a bonus," Token replied. "Because apparently her succeeding in life is _dependent_ on me shacking up with some guy the way she talks about it."

"Gross," Craig's nose scrunched. "Dude, just tell her to fuck off."

Tweek rolled his eyes dramatically, "Not _all of us_ can just flip off our parents and call it a day, Craig." Craig made an annoyed grunt, slugging his shoulder and blocking the immediate move to slap back at his arm. Clyde made a slight whining sound, moving to pull their listlessly fighting hands away from each other and stepping between them. Token smirked and shook his head. Clyde had long since declared himself a physical mediator of the group. The rest of them resolved to talking, but Clyde and Tweek found themselves too emotional when caught in the midst of any level of conflict.

Reaching the table piled with a disarrayed stack of snack foods and grease-soaked boxes, Token sighed, snatching a chilled slice of olive-smothered pizza and biting off the end, wincing at the clump of cheese uncomfortably settling against his tongue. He tiredly glanced about, watching a multitude of conversations at once with raised voices and drunken laughter, peers flinging arms around shoulders and promising that they weren't going to stay apart for as long as they had been. Same shit, different year. They'd all spend the summer together, making grand plans to rent homes together after school ended in towns with job opportunities for them all to reap the benefits. They'd get a dog and a cat, they'd have a chill home life an be one another's wingmen on all occasions.

Token knew better, or at least he hoped he did. Maybe some of them would make it out. Maybe. But many of them would drift down to texts and tagged memes on Facebook only, seeing one another at their high reunions and reminiscing about these days and their half-baked plans before hugging goodbye and going back to separate lives.

He cringed at himself. When did he become so goddamn _cynic_?

"How about a fake?" Clyde's voice suddenly popped back up between Craig and Tweek grabbing at scattered cookies.

"What?" Jimmy asked.

"A fake," he emphasized, gesturing at Token. "Get a fake boyfriend. Mom gets off your back _and_ you don't hafta deal with pretendin' to give a shit about ya know… boyfriend stuff."

Token shook his head, "I'm not hiring a goddamn prostitute, Donovan."

He pouted, "Noooo I mean just…" his lips fumbled, forgetting his train of thought and turning his attention to a pack of Hostess wrappers on the table, trying to remember which of them he actually liked.

Jimmy hummed, clumsily shoving a tortilla chip into his mouth. "Mm-maybe… maybe he's right," he said, feeling Token's wry expression turning towards him and meeting it. "Not a pro… N-not a pros-st-stiii… Not a whore," he finally settled on. "Just… an _actor_."

"Don't know too many drama majors," he snorted, taking another chomp of his pizza. "'Sides, sounds like more trouble than it's worth."

"More than the trouble of being dragged to country clubs?" Tweek asked, getting his attention back on him and flinching at the slight glare, offering him a meek shrug. "Seems like… uh… that'd be easier to deal with than the guys your mom wants ya t' see?"

He leaned his head back, eyes shutting against the techno-beat pulsating around them and taking a long breath. Well. He wasn't _wrong_. A summer of just someone _temporarily_ bothering him for his benefit was a lot better than being forced to play fucking _polo_ again just to put on the airs of _trying_. "How would I even _do that_?" he finally asked.

Clyde, finally catching back onto the conversation and with a Ho-Ho shoved in his mouth shrugged. "Just tell your parents you're dating them and-"

"No, no, I know _that_. How would I _find them?_ "

"Craigslist?" Jimmy offered with a shaky shrug.

His face fell further, "Thanks, I'd rather _not_ be murdered."

"Pussy," Craig scoffed, taking a sip of his beer. "Just find someone here and pay them," he gestured around. "Most of these fuckers you already know. Just give 'em a six-figure like we know you can and they'll do damn near anything for you."

Token glared, "Way to _way_ overstate my bank account, Dickhead. I figure most of them are dating. And you know. Dating _girls_ …" he paused, looking between the four of them. "No chance any of _you_ would be willing to do this for me?"

Clyde shook his head, "Annie would shoot me, sorry."

Jimmy held back a snort, "So-sorry, Buddy. My girl would, too."

"I got _enough_ of the fake-gay thing dealing with Tweek, thanks," Craig rolled his eyes.

Tweek scoffed, offended. "Yeah, because "dating" _you_ was such a walk in the park, you fucking guinea pig fetishist!"

Craig flipped him off before looking back at Token. "Know _why_ we kept doing it though? And how we pulled it off _so damn well_? The money," he said, getting an annoyed, but conceding nod from Tweek. "By the time it was over I had about eight grand and he was at about nine. Pay 'em well enough and your damn mother will be making wedding plans."

"Huh," he mused, looking back at the people spattered about and clicking his tongue. "All right, but who's low-risk? Especially for you know, the gay thing?"

The four looked around with him, mouths twisting in thought.

"B-Butters?" Jimmy suggested. "He'd pla… pl-play along."

Token shook his head, "No. He annoys me _and_ my parents. Plus all he does is talk about his girlfriend on Facebook, my parents would know right away."

Tweek chewed on his cheek, eyes hitting a figure leaning against the wall entertaining his guests. "David?"

"Listen, David's nice and all, but I couldn't pay him enough to stop talking about his fucking restaurant," he said, nose crinkling. "My dad would use him against me. _'Oh he's an entrepreneur why aren't_ you _that ambitious, Token?'"_ he mocked.

Craig rolled his eyes, "Beggars can't be choosers. Speakin' of, what about McCormick? He'd do it for twenty bucks."

"My mother thinks he's riddled with STDs and I'd catch a case of the poor," Token said blandly. "Ken's great but I'm not willing to fight that battle for a _real_ boyfriend, let alone a fake."

The four of them let out a long, annoyed groan, eyes still scanning about. Too damn picky for their alcohol-loaded psyches. A loud yell and crash from the distance caught their attention, heads turning to the left of the room. They found the Cartman, laying on the ground, clutching his stomach and screaming insults up towards his assaulter, who stood above him calmly taking a sip from his Solo cup.

Tweek blinked at the bored demeanor he held among his victim and his cackling friends, "What about Kyle?"

Craig's face scrunched, "Ew. Why?"

"Because he's not poor, he's single that I know of, and doesn't have a family enterprise to ride on and brag about?" he shrugged, looking up at Token, whose face was contorted in thought. "He's not the _worst_ you could do."

"Plus, he's al…alrea… al-already gay," Jimmy piped up. "E-easier for him t' fa-fa-faa-fake it."

Token's eyes widened. A good point. Anyone else he'd have to potentially deal with them fighting through being _uncomfortable_ with sidled next to another dude. Taking out that element made the entire notion a thousand goddamn times easier. "Think he could do it?" he asked. "Or _would_?"

Clyde nodded, "I'm sure he could. Sure as hell could _act_ interested when Stan talked about our games back when," his hand flopped about beside him dismissively. "Dunno if he would, though."

"Pour on a sob story," Craig scoffed. "You know how his annoying ass is."

Token hummed, taking another bite of his food. "What's he majoring in? Not law that I know of but that's about it."

"Poli-sci, I th-think," Jimmy said. "You know Ky-Kyle. Always wanting to ma-ma-make a difference."

Token paused, letting the idea settle. Politics was as _useless_ a degree as his own in his dad's eyes if it wasn't going towards law school. At least he'd have someone on his damn level with him in case those damn conversations popped up like they always did. His mother's opinion, though, he couldn't be so sure. But convincing her was easy enough so long as he _seemed_ happy, he figured. "Perfect," he said, throwing his leftover food into Clyde's hands and setting off towards the group still watching Cartman writhe on the ground.

"Wait! Wait until he's away from Cart-" Tweek tried to yell, Token already out of earshot and on a mission. The remainder looked at one another, wincing. Going towards Kyle _now_ could be a shit move depending on just how wound Kyle's nerves were. Apparently, he'd _forgotten_ that lovely sect of Kyle's personality.

Token weaved his way around the scattered crowds, looking at Kyle's annoyed expression and biting his lip. This probably wasn't his _only_ shot, but he'd be damned if he could think of someone better to play the damn part, especially on such short notice. He finally finagled his way into somewhat open space, slowing his gait and walking up towards the scene, seeing Stan and Kenny hanging off each other, still cracking up into one another's shoulders. A slue of profanities continued to slip through slurring lips as Cartman wriggled, trying to catch his breath and holding his stomach as he rolled on his back.

Token took a deep breath, stepping up beside of Kyle and looking down at his masterpiece. "The hell happened here?"

Kyle jerked a bit at the unexpected voice, head tilting up to look at Token wryly. "It was Cartman making a comment towards me, Token. Whaddya think it relates to?"

"Jew joke?"

"Jew joke," he confirmed with a scoff, taking another sip of his drink and kicking Cartman's flailing leg for good measure. Token could smell the makings of a disproportionate screwdriver from the confines of the cup.

He laughed softly, "How original. Kyle, can I talk to you outside for a minute?"

Kyle paused his drink, confused by the offer. He'd talked one-on-one with Token a _handful_ of times during their school years, and even that was a generous estimation. He glanced back at Token, seeing something _desperate_ in his expression and his reluctance softened, perplexity mounting. "Um, sure?" he shrugged. "Ken," he said, finding the two of his friends done with their laughter and staring at Token just as bewilderedly as he probably was. "Smokes?"

"You buyin' me a new pack, Brof?" Kenny teased, fishing his cigarettes from his hoodie and tossing them towards him.

"I'll buy you a damn carton so long as you lemme bum," he promised with a laugh before turning back up to Token. "Wait, shit, sorry. You don't mind, right?"

He snorted, "Dude, Craig is one of my best friends. I'm waiting for him to spontaneously grow a filter on his ass one of these days the rate he goes at it. It's fine."

"Cool," he nodded, gesturing for Token to lead the way towards the front door. He did so, missing the shrug and Kyle mouthing _"I have no idea"_ to a still-confused Stan and Kenny as they passed. Token sighed. Okay, a smoker so… not exactly a _plus_ as far as his parents would be concerned. Maybe he could get him to hold off on it if he was around. If he even _agreed_ to this shit.

The concept was sounding more and more crazy with each passing moment, and he wondered if he should just bail and accept a fate of tennis matches and hoity-toity brunches. He shoved open the front door, eyes twitching as they tried to adjust to the stillness of moonlight and the brisk breeze fluttering through the air. He shuddered, stepping out of the way and letting Kyle onto the porch, who groaned from the assault and took another long drink, impatient for the alcohol to warm him up. Token shut the door, ears still pumping even with the music muffled to mere bass beats through the sturdy walls.

"So," Kyle said, mouth tingling from vodka and citrus as he set his cup onto the porch railing and fumbled with Kenny's pack of menthols. "What's up?"

Token's mouth opened, but words didn't come out. A sudden rush of nerves and the feeling of _stupidity_ slammed into him. He was being a _child_ , wanting to avoid his _mommy's wrath_. He paused. Well. If _anyone_ could understand that train of logic, it'd definitely be the redhead in front of him angrily shaking a Bic for refusing to ignite on command.

Kyle finally vanquished his unresponsive foe, lighting the end of his cigarette and sighing in relief. He'd wanted one for nearly a half-hour, was too busy dealing with Cartman and trying to monitor Kenny's damn whisky intake before he blacked the fuck out like he did at the majority of the parties they ventured towards. It may have been Stan's designated night, but that never stopped his anxiety from making him the back-up. He glanced up at Token staring at him, pulling the Marlboro from his lips and letting out a long, minted breath. "Uh, Token?" he winced.

"Right," Token nodded quickly, snapping back into the moment and coughing awkwardly. "Okay. So. This is… weird but I need to… just kinda… come out and say it and yeah," he fumbled over his words, feeling even fucking _dumber_ than he did a mere ten seconds prior.

Kyle's brow raised before a let out a small laugh. "Man, good thing I don't have a sister."

He blinked, "What does that mean?"

He smirked with a shrug, letting out a sigh as he hopped up to sit himself on the porch railing, a finger pressed against the lip of his cup to keep it from toppling over with the shift of the wood. "Because with _that_ kind of start-up, I'd have to think you'd knocked her up." He took another drag, Token letting his words settle and Kyle grinning as he finally let out a laugh, sounding a _touch_ more like a person. "Seriously, is everything okay?" he finally asked, watching as the small smile fell and that awkwardness came back full-force.

"It's… kind of the _opposite_ of your… sister guess? It's more a… favor?" he winced, Kyle's brow hiking higher. Token took a deep breath, straightening up. Just say it and end it. Get a damn answer and move on, he told himself. "I'll pay you to be my boyfriend."

Kyle nearly jerked back and fell off the railing himself, eyes wide with such a massive and _loud_ proclamation into the night air. "I'm fucking sorry, _what_?!" he nearly squeaked, not sure if he even _heard him_ correctly.

Token cringed, holding up his hands in defense. Okay. A little _too_ to-the-point. "Okay, sorry, let me explain."

"Yeah, that'd be _nice_!" he exclaimed, reeling.

His hands went up and into his hair, back locked with stress and face burning with embarrassment. "My mom. She… she wants me to… get with one of my dad's partner's kids this summer and… and Kyle I _can't_ handle that. Those kids are so…"

"Spoiled?" Kyle guessed, getting a defeated nod and joining the gesture. "Yeah, some of the kids of the people my dad has worked with are the same way."

Token took a long breath of relief. At least he _got_ where he was coming from. "Kyle, she does this every year to me," he winced. "Forces me to try these shitty "relationships" and I just have to deal with being made fun of by their fuckin' glee club asses because I'm not part of their… _social soiree_ so I'm like a fuckin' _charity case_."

Kyle couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of his statement, taking another drag and staring at his cherry as he ashed off onto the cement porch. "Man, you are the _last_ person at this party who should be considered charity."

Token winced, but nodded. "Yeah. Exactly. I need her off my back so I can not deal with her _guilt-tripping_ nonsense. I just need someone to fake it for me."

"Man, you must be shit in the sack if you have to pay someone to even _fake it_ for ya," he teased, getting a soft glare out of him that he chuckled at. "How long we talkin'?"

The glower fell, a rush of relief pouring through him. He was _considering it_. "Probably just throughout the summer."

Kyle hummed, tilting the filter in his fingers and watching him in thought. It wasn't a _terrible_ notion. It would get him out of the house and away from his mother more often. Between Kenny's job, Stan's constant time spent with Wendy, and Cartman being… Cartman, he had a fine-eyed number of opportunities to get out of her warpath. "How much pay we talkin'?" he asked. Had to make sure this was worth his while. Last thing he wanted was to be getting two bucks a day to be thrust into unwanted attention.

"Um, ten an hour when you're with me?" he shrugged. He hadn't really thought about it, but he also knew he wasn't talking to an idiot who didn't know the value of his time.

"Twelve an hour," he counteroffered, smirking at Token's face contorting.

"Kyle, c'mon…"

He scoffed, "Fuck you, Dude. I have to pay for school, not all of us are getting full rides from our parents, okay? I was considering a summer job to save up, but if I do this and you pay me twelve, I'll drop that idea and you can always use me as an excuse to get away from your mom." He breathed in another bout of smoke, watching Token considering his minor self-sacrifice. "Do that," he added, "promise me at least ten hours a week, and I can be more convincing than an _actual_ boyfriend."

Token groaned, leaning back against the siding of the house and closing his eyes in thought. That was a good amount of money, but he _did_ see where he was coming from. Having a consistent person that his mom would be more than happy to let him go see would be worth it. "Fine," he conceded, watching Kyle perk up with the agreement. "But, if I'm paying you that much, you'd need to stick to a script, pretty much."

Kyle shrunk back down, looking at him apprehensively. "What _kind_ of script? You're not gonna make me fake being _Catholic_ or some shit are you-"

"No, no, no," he shook his head and hands, giving another shiver from the cool air. "Listen, my parents just… tend to hang out with 'social elite' kind of people," he winced.

"Ah," he replied with another drag. "And my upper-middle class roots are just too beneath them? Don't want me to behave like a degenerate, poverty-stricken panhandler?"

Token cringed, "When you put it like that, it sounds fucking awful."

He chuckled, "Well, be more specific and I won't have to reach so far for descriptors next time."

"Listen, you know _I_ don't give a shit about it, but they do. They know your family well enough to know that you're not exactly a poor kid yourself…"

"But I act like it," he finished, shrugging at Token's awkward throat-clearing. "No, I get it," he waved off his embarrassment. "Remember, Ken is one of my best friends, he rubs off on ya and before you know it, you're just as adamant as he is about the uprising of the proletariat."

Token snorted, "I doubt Kenny uses that term."

"No, but he breathes the heart and soul of the revolution," he rolled his eyes with a grin. "Speaking of rubbing off on you though…" he paused, watching Token's face fall back into a bewildered state and smiling wider. "This whole thing," he gestured between the two of them. "Physical or no?"

Token took a long breath, offering him a small shrug. "Depends. Hopefully not but I honestly can't tell you if it'll have to be later on to sell the story."

He clicked his tongue, nodding in thought. "All right, all right. Handholding I'll do for free. Kissing's gonna cost ya."

Token quirked his brow, "You are _scarily_ well-versed in this."

Kyle shrugged lazily, grabbing his cup and taking a long sip. He brought it down with a sigh, "You're not my _first_ fake boyfriend, Token. I'm _highly_ sought after to be the fallback. Guess that's what compensates for no one actually wanting to date me," he rolled his eyes. He paused, looking at him yet again and growing annoyed with a half-apologetic look on his face. "Though, did _not_ know _you_ were into dudes."

He ducked down, scratching irritably at his arm. "Yeah… been keeping it on the downlow for years aside from the guys. And my parents," he added quickly. Didn't need Kyle to think he'd be walking into some possible _dangerous_ situation with a closeted son.

He nodded knowingly. "I get that. I was like that for the first few years with Stan and Ken. Then Fatass caught on and, well, you saw how that went down," he grumbled miserably.

Token's lips twisted in sympathy. Yes, he remembered _all_ too well. Walking in during their junior year with a gleeful Cartman holding a megaphone and displaying a video monitor in the middle of the main entrance hallway. A cluster of their peers gathered around watching a looping voyeuristic feed of Kyle getting happily manhandled by Bridon Gueermo in the alley behind City Wok. Kyle had been _beyond_ humiliated, word reaching his little brother and then his parents in a matter of an hour.

It'd worked out for the best, Kyle had told their lunch table. His parents supported him, his brother didn't care, and no one at school teased him for anything but his taste in overly-dramatic guys. It was just the _method_ that'd killed him, it was Cartman being the one who'd made everything known that just destroyed his sense of self. Having himself unknowingly _filmed from the bushes_ certainly didn't help matters, going through the rest of high school apprehensively and thinking Cartman was always right there, fucking _stalking him_.

"That was so fucking uncool," he finally said, getting Kyle's muddled expression back on him. "It was honestly one of the main reasons I stayed quiet."

"Good move," he nodded with a sigh. "Can't promise you he'll behave himself if it gets out that _you're_ on the team, too, though," he warned.

He shrugged, "My parents know. My friends know. I really don't care who else knows at this point. Not like I live here anymore."

Kyle smiled, "Fair point. All right, so how does this thing start?"

Token clacked his teeth in thought. "I'm gonna tell my mom sometime this week that you… ya know. Exist. I'll text you after that if I need you to play the part and we'll go from there."

"Sounds good," he said, stubbing out his smoldering cigarette into the railing beside him.

Token let out a long, shaking breath of relief. "Thanks so much for doing this, Kyle. You have _no_ idea how helpful this is."

He looked back at him and smiled. "No no, thank _you_ for my tax-free employment. Also. I'm telling Stan and Ken. That's non-negotiable."

"Should I just _assume_ Cartman will know, too?"

Kyle winced, "May as well. Bastard has me bugged or some shit, I swear to God."

"Fine with me, I'll text you later," he smirked, giving him a simple wave and turning back to open the door, nearly jerking back at Stan, Kenny, and Cartman lingering on the other side, failing to look like they weren't trying to eavesdrop. He looked back at Kyle holding the bridge of his nose and sighing at their shenanigans and back to the three of them watching him suspiciously, stepping past him onto the porch.

Stan eyed him skeptically, "What were you two talkin' about?"

Token stared back at him and shrugged. May as well cut out the middleman. "Kyle's my boyfriend now, bye," he said, stepping into the house hurriedly and shutting the door, laughing at the sound of the three of them yelling over one another in utter confusion at what the hell had happened during a mere ten-minute conversation.

He glanced to see his own group still lingering around the food table, heading back their way as they watched his every step. He could feel their speculations, wondering why Cartman, Stan, and Kenny had stepped past him, why he so quickly shut the door on them and went on the retreat. Maybe it wasn't his _smoothest_ of moves, but damn if it wasn't a quick moment of fun.

"So?!" Tweek asked as he casually reached past him and snagged another piece of pizza.

He took a bite and grinned, nodding. "He's cool with it. Have to pay him well, but whatever. If he can keep up appearances I could not care less."

"I'm sure he-he'll do just fi-fiii-f-fine, Token," Jimmy assured him with a gentle shoulder bump. "Hard parts o-over now."

His smile fell, shoulders slumping. No, no _that_ was the easy part, regardless of how difficult he'd made it on himself stumbling his way through an awkward barrage of requests and haggling. The hardest part was yet to come.

He still had to tell his goddamn mother.


	4. Chapter 4

The aroma of overcooked French toast and a carafe of Keurig-brewed morning blend filled the long expanse of the hallway outside Token's room. Standing halfway out his bedroom door, he sighed, a hand raising to press his fingers into his hair. French toast meant his mom was in a good mood, so that was something at least. He couldn't say the same for his father, who was already growing impatient with Token's procrastination of putting away his boxes still lingering in organized chaos around his bookshelf and desk. But, homemade breakfast usually equaled all their moods being just a bit uplifted, even when it had to be drowned in the artificially-sweetened syrup his mother liked to buy from Whole Foods.

Token took a long breath, finally forcing himself out into the hallway to make way towards the stairs, looking down at the tattered bottoms of his flannel pajama pants. His lips twisted, trying to remember why the hell they'd gotten so worn-out. He could only assume it was from wearing them out when he'd snuck out to meet the guys in high school. Trekking through half-melted snow and getting caught under the rubber soles of heavy boots did not make for kindness against the soft cotton, he supposed. He just had to hope his mom didn't comment on them and ask why he would ruin the clothes she'd so graciously purchased for him.

Stepping down the stairs, he could hear his parents' voices carrying up the way, discussions on what they were both going to try to accomplish at work once they headed out, the same as every morning. Token often heard his friends' parents talking in the morning, but it was never as in-depth or genuinely curious about the other's work endeavors that he'd heard. Instead it was always sharp snippets goaded on from restless nights on uncomfortable mattresses, reminders that they had to go to the store that night and the resounding moans that followed. It didn't make much sense to Token, as he'd figured his parents held far more stressful jobs than that of his friends'. But, he surmised, maybe it really was the paycheck that made all the difference. It was an odd thing to be confounded on, the genuine love of his parents, but growing up seeing marriage after marriage turn into nothing more than a shouting match from the other side of town would do that to a person.

Making way onto the landing and stepping off towards the kitchen, the stench of slightly-burnt bread seemed all the more prevalent. He just had to hope that his mother's tendency to put way too much cinnamon into her creation made it more bearable.

"Good morning, Token!" she sang, chipper and bustling like she was straight out of _Leave it to Beaver_.

"Morning, Mom," he greeted, walking past her and giving her a slight, affectionate shoulder-check on the way by. "Hey, Dad."

Steve looked up from the paper laying on the table as he chewed his food, glancing up at Token and giving him a nod. "Morning, Son. How'd you sleep?"

He shrugged, taking his regular seat where his plate was already prepped for him with a half-attempted syrup smile staring up at him. "Fine."

"Gonna work on your boxes today?

Token rolled his eyes, snatching his coffee and taking a sip, cringing at the lingering bitterness and reaching for the creamer still sitting on the table. "Yeah, I will, I will," he promised in a mutter. Only four days home and he was already stuck in a loop with his father. As soon as they passed over this barrier, it would just be something else like pursuing a summer job or, god forbid, why he should change majors before it's too late.

Linda sat across from Token with her own plate, beginning to quickly cut her toast into manageable pieces. "He'll get to it when he gets to it, Steven," she lectured coolly. "It's not the end of the world."

"He's not doing anything else with his time, there's no reason why he shouldn't be done yet."

"I'm literally right here," Token said dryly, trying another sip of his rectified coffee and smacking his lips. "Don't need to talk like I'm off in the void."

"May as well be with as much progress as you're making unpacking."

"Jesus Christ," he grumbled, rubbing at his eyes and sighing. It was too fucking early for this shit. "I will _finish it_ by the end of the week, okay?"

His father looked back at him once more from his paper and raised his brow. "You damn well better since we'll have guests in a few days. I want it done by Thursday, Token."

He frowned, "The guests aren't going to be going through _my room_ , Dad."

Linda gave a quiet sigh and shook her head, taking a syrup-soaked bite. "We always give people a walkthrough, Token. You know that. You have plenty of time to finish."

"I _will_ , okay?!" he pleaded. "Can we _please_ just drop it?!"

Steve huffed, turning the page of his paper and chomping on a slice of underdone bacon. "Fine, let's talk about the party then."

' _Maybe getting lectured would be better,_ ' Token thought dismally, poking at his toast.

"The caterers will be here before your mother and I get home," he continued, "so you're going to need to let them in and get them set up in the kitchen, Token." Token nodded, trying to subtly scrape off burnt pieces of his food out of his mother's cone of vision. "We have someone coming tomorrow to wash down the patio, but they shouldn't have to bother you."

Token nodded once more, "So it's outdoor then?"

"No, that's just an option. I know you and the other kids like to go out there instead of hanging out in the living room with us adults," he finally gave him a half-smile. "Get some fresh air from the tax talk."

"That _is_ always welcome," Token snorted, fork smearing the pat of butter half-melted on his toast.

His mother gave a set of short, excited claps and got his attention as she swallowed a mouthful of coffee. " _Speaking_ of the other kids," she started with a grin, Token's stomach twisting in dread. He was not ready for this, not nearly enough caffeine or artificial sweetener in his system as of yet. "Do you remember William Randall?"

Token squinted, the name lighting a dim fuse somewhere in his subconscious. "Uh…"

"Andrew and Betty's son?" She tried, watching his face contort further with confusion. She sighed, "From when you were in middle school. Your father worked with Andrew on a case for slander?"

"Uh… barely," he winced. "Been, you know, about a decade since then."

"Well," she prattled on, not diminished by her son's foggy memory, "William is _looking_ for… you know… someone like you."

"Someone gay," he said bluntly, getting a short, embarrassed nod out of her. How she could be so eager to set him up but still have trouble mustering a goddamn three-letter word, Token could never understand. He sighed, rubbing at his temple, his eyes glimpsing towards his father who was watching subtly between reading op-ed quotes. "Mom…"

"He's very nice," she interrupted. "And he'll be here with his parents on Friday since your father is working with Andrew again! You could talk to him and see how it goes!"

Token's eyes slipped shut, a nearly-inaudible groan swirling through his chest. _'Now or never, Token. Get her off your fucking back_.' He gulped, "I uh… I already… met… someone," he said, voice dripping with nerves and wondering if the lie was already so sheer it may as well be a decorative veil over their windows.

A heavy silence fell over the table, his parents both staring at him in shock while his eyes remained closed, fist painfully gripped around the edge of his sterling fork.

His father finally broke the tension, "…What? Who?"

Token gulped, looking back up finally as his face heated up at their undivided attention. "You uh… you remember Kyle Broflovski?"

Linda's face immediately lit up, " _Really?!_ " she nearly squealed. "Kyle?! I had no _idea-_ "

"Yes, he's been out since high school," he cut her off, forcing more toast into his mouth.

Steve blinked, blindly grasping for his coffee mug. "When did that happen, Son?"

He leaned his cheek into his free palm and sighed. "Last Saturday at the party. We just… talked and it kinda led there okay it's not a big deal."

"Not a big _deal_?!" Linda nearly gasped. "Why didn't you _tell us_ , that's _wonderful-_ "

"Mom, I said we're together, not that we're getting married," he said wryly, looking up at her and having to stop himself from rolling his eyes at the blatant elation on her face.

Steve's lips twisted, giving a soft clearing of his throat. "Token… he's not exactly…"

"What? Too poor for your tastes?" he scoffed. "If his mom worked, they'd be pretty close to our income-level, Dad."

He shook his head, "No, no. Not that, not at all. He's very… Well… I just remember him being awfully… _opinionated_."

Token shrugged, stifling down a cackle at the _gross_ understatement and taking another swig of coffee. "Nothing wrong with having opinions, Dad, we all do."

"Not to the point of organizing protests galore," Steve reminded him with a small laugh. "You sure you want to deal with that-"

"Guys, relationship is literally only three days old. Just testing the waters right now," he cut him off, looking between them and sighing. "He's not quite as… uh… let's say _involved_ now that I know of. He's nice, that's all you need to know."

Linda pouted, "No, that's not _all_ we need to know."

"He doesn't deal drugs, how's that for full-fledged information?" He couldn't exactly _promise_ that that was the case, but he was willing to bet he'd placed the right cards on the table.

"Good to know," Steve shook his head with an amused smirk and went back to his breakfast.

His mother leaned on the table, pointing her fork at him and a sly grin crept up her face. "Invite him on Friday."

Token's face fell, "…What?"

"Invite him, it'll give you someone to talk to the other kids with. It'll be good for you."

He winced, imagining Kyle being put in front of a half-dozen spoiled kids that made Cartman's entitlement look tame. He could just see Kyle losing his shit over one of them making one-too-many jokes at the expense of his income bracket, or, god forbid, going after _Kenny's_ , and making sure they all left with broken noses. "I… I don't know how comfortable he would be with that, Mom."

She shrugged innocently, "He can always leave if he wants to. He's not a _prisoner_. But it'll give you two some interactions outside of your friends and… _his_ group," she shuddered. Token rolled his eyes, though his lips couldn't help but twitch in and out of a smirk. She'd always had her vocal issues with Kenny and Cartman, and Stan was never high on her list either. He'd figured that Kyle was down there with him with their peas-in-a-pod status, but apparently all his past sins had been forgiven with a mere mention of possibly making her son happy in some way.

"Seriously, he's not super social and it's still really new and that seems like a bit much-"

"Exactly, it's new," she countered. "You two aren't forced to interact with only each other and it gives more room for ice breakers than just a one-on-one date."

"Oh god," he muttered, putting his forehead into his hand.

Steve spoke up again, "Your mother is right, Token. Have him come over, I'm sure you two will be just fine mingling with the others. Maybe you won't be so closed-off if you have someone else with you."

He grimaced. He couldn't deny it'd be nice to have someone he _somewhat_ knew at one of these damn parties, considering his mother wasn't too fond of letting him invite any of his damn friends over to participate in their soirees. This seemed like a _lot_ to ask of someone for their goddamn first fake date, though. "I'll… I'll ask. If he says no, no pushing," he said sharply, staring pointedly at his mother.

She waved off the notion, "No one is forcing anyone. But don't you _discourage_ him, either, Token," she said. "You need to make the most of your summer if you plan on truly pursuing this relationship."

Token bit his tongue, nodding slowly, willing to concede to finally end the damn cornering. "Fine. Whatever."

"Good!" she smiled brightly, turning to launch into a discussion with his father regarding the catering menu. Token sighed, shaking his head and poking his toast yet again. He wasn't ready for this.

And if he wasn't ready, god knew Kyle probably wouldn't be either.

* * *

It was almost novel, Kyle thought, how the décor of Stan's bathroom hadn't budged an inch in the two decades they'd been friends. A quiet hum left his throat as honeycomb hand soap slipped through his fingers in bubbled lines. It was comforting in a sense, how he could come to the Marsh's and know exactly what to expect: Sharon just happy to see all of them, Randy drinking and trying to insert himself into their group, and Stan trying to readjust to life outside of being a college athlete and remember that he didn't get those special privileges from his friends.

Kyle smiled slightly. All it needed was Shelly shoving him into the wall when he was in her way of the cereal cupboard and calling him a queer turd and it'd be like he was thirteen all over again.

As he dried his palms on the navy hand towel that desperately needed replaced, he could hear Stan, Ken, and Cartman yelling over one another from Stan's room. He sighed, thankful for the noise. College wasn't quiet by any means, but the sounds of two thousand stressed-out students didn't carry nearly the same weight as that of his friends. Especially not in the middle of a goddamn Mario Kart tournament; nothing could rival them there.

He ripped open the bathroom door, bare feet plodding down the carpeted hall towards the source of ruckus. As his head poked through the door, he couldn't help but laugh at the immediate site of Kenny wailing on Cartman with one of Stan's pillows, cursing out blue shells and Liane Cartman for not getting an abortion while she had the chance.

"I take it you _won't_ be doing your traditional celebratory mooning, McCormick," he said, kicking the door closed behind him and snatching one of the waiting beers from the cooler beside the bed.

"I'm sure that breaks your heart, you fag," Cartman scoffed, shoving Kenny over to whine into the carpet. "Probably the only reason you won't fuck off away from us is you just wanna imagine us all naked." He grunted with a swift smack over his head from Stan sitting above him on his bed.

Kyle rolled his eyes. "One: _You'd_ be voted out. Not me. Two: No one in the goddamn world has enough brainpower to comprehend the immense mass of your naked flabby ass, Dickweed. Three: I can do better than you fucks."

Kenny sat up with an aghast look on his face and a hand over his chest. "How _dare you_ ," he breathed, Kyle rolling his eyes with a smirk as he sat next to Stan on the bed. The offense dropped from his face immediately, replaced with a wide, impish grin. " _Speaking of_ loves of your life, your _boyfrieeend_ texted you," he teased, handing Kyle his phone.

Kyle frowned, knowing that tone _all_ too well, "What did you do, Kenny?"

"Nothinnnn'," he sang, elbowing Cartman who couldn't stifle his snickering.

"I tried to stop 'em," Stan said blandly, trying to skip through an obnoxiously bright awards cutscene.

Kyle sighed, opening his messages and sweeping his eyes upwards.

 **Token**

' _So, my mother is insisting on you coming to a party we're having Friday. No obligation on your part, but I promised I'd ask and knowing her she'd go through my phone to make sure I did.'_

Kyle looked up in thought, mouth twisting. Seemed awfully stressful for a first attempt at the ruse. His eye flickered to another text lingering under Token's, face falling with an unamused groan.

 **Kyle**

' _Sure, Daddy, can't wait to tell the town your big cock is mine ;ppppppp'_

" _REALLY,_ Kenny?!" he snapped, the two on the floor falling over cackling. Kyle leaned his head back and groaned louder. "Did you _really_ try to stop them, Stan, or did you just 'don't' at them and give up?"

Stan smiled sheepishly and gave him a small shrug. "You know how they are. And how little I think of you for agreeing to do this with Token," he added in a mutter.

He frowned, hitting him with the back of his hand. "Well _sorry_ he asked me and not you."

"To prostitute yourself."

"I'm not a prostitute, you twit-" he paused, looking down at his phone as a vibration rocketed through his hand.

 **Token**

' _Ken, when Kyle gets his phone back, fucking make sure you tell him I asked him an actual question, please.'_

Kyle snorted, "He's onto ya, Ken."

Kenny pouted, plopping back against Kyle's legs hanging off the side of the bed and fiddling with the controller in his hands. "How could he tell? I'm _sure_ I've heard you say that verbatim."

"Only to you, Daddy."

Cartman made a loud sound of disgust, reaching back to punch Kyle's thigh and snatching his beer from between his knees. "You'll get this back when you don't encourage his fucking wet dreams, Jew."

"Hmm, no chance of that, you're always in my wet dreams, Babe," Ken looked up at Kyle and shot him an exaggerated wink, ignoring Stan's mock retching. Kyle chuckled, lightly kicking Kenny's side and looking back at his phone.

He took a long breath, thumbs lingering above the touchpad. "All right, opinion time. Is it really stupid to do this shit at a party? Or should I just suck it up and go for it?"

"Sure that won't be the only thing you suck up," Cartman muttered, rolling his eyes and putting down his controller. He reached up beside Stan and snagged a bag of Cheesy Poofs, seeing they were at a standstill until Kyle's dilemma was resolved. "Why would you wanna be that prick's whore anyway?"

"Because it was either whore myself out to him for twelve an hour or whore myself out to a retailer for eight an hour. I think I made the better choice, you penniless fuck," he scoffed. "Either way it's putting on a smile and pretending to be happy where I am, so what's the difference?"

Stan shook his head, taking Kyle's beer back from Cartman and handing it over to him. "Dude, this just seems… not like you."

"Stan, this isn't that big of a deal. He'll probably fake a break-up like, a month in and fire me and use the rest of the summer as 'recovery' or something. So I'm just gonna ride this out and get paid."

"Brof, if you wanna not be called a prostitute, maybe change up the vocab there, huh?" Kenny snickered. "Just fuckin' do the party, Dude. Rip off the Band-Aid. Show 'em what a great son-in-law you're gonna be."

Kyle shuddered at the thought. Letting out a sigh, he decided on his safer route: Getting Token's goddamn opinion. Having _him_ unsure wasn't going to go well for either of them as far as he could tell.

 **Kyle**

' _Sorry Ken's a dick. I'm leaving that decision up to you, Dude. You know these waters way better than I do.'_

Kenny grunted, lightly slamming back into Kyle's shins. "Takin' my advice?"

"Getting _his_ ," he said. "I don't know if this is a fucking… dinner party between like six people or a rager or some shit."

Stan snorted, "Yeah. The Blacks throwing a rager. I'm _sure_ that's the intention."

"Hard to headbang holding fuckin' tumblers of cognac and cigars," Cartman rolled his eyes. "Probably hand out stacks of hundreds as their party favors."

"They're not millionaires, Fatass," Kyle grimaced. "They're just successful unlike the rest of this damn town."

Cartman looked up at him and a snide grin slipped up his face and a sigh immediately fell from Kyle's lips. "And you can't _wait_ to get your gold-digging Jew hands all over their income, huh?"

" _Cartman_ ," Stan warned, firmly kicking his hip.

Kyle rolled his eyes. That one was a long time coming. "How much you tell him you'd give him if he resisted that one, Stan?"

"One hundred if he held out at least a month," Stan scoffed. "Figured it wouldn't work, but it might give you a tiny reprieve."

Kenny chuckled, awkwardly reaching up and patting Kyle's knee. "We tried, we really did."

Kyle hummed, giving them both a small, appreciative nod. A vibration in his hands turned his attention back down to the glowing blue text bubble waiting for him.

 **Token**

' _Honestly, it might be easier this way. They won't grill you as much if there's twenty other people for them to pay attention to. And you can always leave early in the middle of a group of them so you can avoid them further.'_

 **Kyle**

' _All right, sounds good to me.'_

He tossed the phone aside and sighed, grabbing his controller and bouncing it anxiously in his lap. "Guess I'm not hanging out with you fucks on Friday."

"Aww, our lil Kyle is growin' up, goin' t' big boy parties," Kenny teased, elbowing him.

Stan and Cartman grabbed their controllers at the sign of continuation, Stan scrolling through the start menu and sneaking glances at Kyle. "You gonna be okay?"

He shrugged, taking another long sip of beer. "I dunno. Not exactly something I _want_ to do first-thing, but maybe I can convince Token to add on some more payment if it turns into a migraine-inducing disaster. So, which one of you is gonna be my excuse?"

The other three looked at one another before glancing back at him. "Uh, what?" Cartman asked.

"Well I can't tell _my mother_ what I'm doing, and I can't pull a Token and say we're dating. That'll turn into such a fucking confining situation I'd rather jump out my window," he scoffed, flipping through character options. "I just need an alibi, and you all know she rarely calls for that unless I end up breaking my arm or some shit."

Ken snorted, nodding his head. "Good point. Sheila ain't gonna like the idea of her lil _Bubbeleh_ whoring himself out for only twelve an hour." He grunted at a solid kick to his spine and laughed. "You can say you're with me this time around," he said. "She ain't brave enough to call the house for verification."

"You'd be surprised," he drawled. "But thanks."

Stan grimaced, waiting impatiently for the other three to catch up to him at the ready screen. "Ky, you _really_ think you can hide this from her?"

"With her giant Jew nose digging into it, I doubt-"

"CARTMAN!" Kyle shouted, foot leaving Kenny's side and slamming into his arm, an angry huff leaving his nose as he crashed into the nightstand. He straightened up, thumb bashing just a touch too hard on his controller and the sound of Yoshi's cheer breaking in the momentary silence. "And yes, Stan, I think I can. I just have to be smart about it. I got through how many months of sneakin' around with Bridon before anyone found out, right? And the only reason anyone did is because _someone_ has a _sick obsession with me_ ," he growled, Cartman meeting his glare with a hefty smirk.

He shook his head, "An obsession with making you miserable, _Kahl_ ," he purred. "Just _how_ are you gonna keep _me_ from spilling this to your dear mother?"

Kyle cleared his throat, putting the controller on Kenny's head for a moment and looking at him casually. "Do you remember last year when I found you stealing from my wallet in the middle of the night? Do you remember how _hard_ it was for you to _move_ the rest of the summer with that ol' cracked rib of yours?" Cartman's face slowly fell and he smiled in return. "It'll be worse," he promised, tone taking on a slight hiss. "And I'm sure Stan and Ken would be willing to help again, right?" he looked between them both.

"Definitely," Stan nodded through a sip of his beer.

"I'll defend you till my dyin' breath, Babe," Kenny smiled, tilting his head back and letting Kyle catch the controller falling from oily hair.

Kyle's brows raised in challenge at Cartman's pout. "I'll _let them_ participate this time," he promised. "You keep your fat mouth shut, and we'll all have a nice, injury-free summer."

Cartman rolled his eyes, "Aside from your limpin' from Token's cock in your ass."

Kyle groaned, eyes flickering back to the television at the high-pitched confirmation tone and giving both him and Kenny another kick for snickering. His gaze was diverted yet again at the sight of his phone beaming once more beside his leg with another waiting message from Token.

 **Token**

' _Dress is business casual kind of crap. Thanks for doing this, Man. I'll send you a more specific time later."_

Kyle hummed to himself, turning back to the game he was already lagging behind on and heaving a sigh. He'd mingled with upper class people before. Didn't _enjoy it_ by any stretch, but he could fake it long enough to charm his way into the belief of Token's parents. He hoped.

 _God,_ he hoped.


	5. Chapter 5

There was always a strange scent that lingered around the outer perimeter of the McCormick homestead. Kyle could only ever equate it to the odd smell of a crisp winter's morning, not particularly unpleasant, but just off enough that one could tell that something wasn't quite correct. He'd grown used to it in his youth but coming back home from the aroma of heavy rainfall and a consistent metric ton of shisha always made it stand out once more.

His nostrils were invaded with a slight, familiar burn as the steady smoke of a Marlboro unfurled before his face. He could feel it tickling the back of his throat as the bite of faux mint formed to fit the crevice of his mouth. Kyle sighed, shifting to lean further against the wobbling shingles beside Kenny's bedroom window, glancing over to Kenny himself working his way down his third cigarette in the twenty minutes they'd been standing outside together.

"Somethin' buggin' ya?" he asked, casually ashing to his side, focus remaining on the man beside him.

Kenny shook his head, "Nah. Don't wanna work, but that's how I always feel," he snorted. He looked back at him with a small smirk. "How 'bout _you_?"

Kyle sighed, rolling his shoulders. "I'm starting to think I shoulda told Token no."

"To the whole thing or tonight?"

"Tonight," he clarified, eyes drifting to look down the street on the lookout for an incoming BMW. "Just seems like a lot of people to deal with and I'm bad enough at just small groups."

Ken grinned cheekily, "Yeah, harder for you t' drop down and deepthroat 'im with an audience, huh? Or does that just getcha goin' more?"

"Ya _know what-_ " he drawled, scowling at Kenny bursting into a cackling fit and opting to merely punch his arm. "You're as bad as Stan. Maybe even as bad as _Cartman_."

His laughter stopped immediately, face falling into a pout. "How _dare you_ ," he said, moving down to shoulder-check Kyle. "I don't _mean it_. Hell, even _Fatass_ don't really mean it. Stanny though…"

Kyle groaned with the reminder, having dealt with an afternoon lecture already on Stan's behalf before Kyle had to go home and get changed for this damn party. "Do you think he's actually mad at me?"

Kenny shrugged, "Does it matter?"

"I mean _a little_ ," he winced. "It's so fuckin' weird how he's being about this."

"No, it ain't," Kenny rolled his eyes with a smirk. "Know what it is that's buggin' 'im, Ky? Take a guess."

He frowned, "If you pull out the ' _Stan's bi for me'_ bullshit again I'm kicking your teeth in." He'd dealt with that shit _enough_ throughout high school and his nerves were already strung-out to his wit's end.

Ken snickered, waving him off through another drag. "Nah, nah. Not this time. He doesn't like that you're not gonna be available at _his_ beck n' call all summer like ya usually are."

Kyle frowned, crossing his arms and trying not to burn himself with the smoldering stick between his fingers. "Well he's with Wendy like, eighty percent of the time so-"

"Exactly," he cut him off with a nod. "Even if ya were _really_ datin' Token, or anyone you could hang out with 'round here, he'd be pissy. Only _he_ can make everyone conform to his damn datin' schedule. Just ignore him and git yerself paid, Dude."

Kyle groaned again, leaning his head back and taking another drag of his cigarette. "You really think that's his issue?"

"I _know_ so. Stanny did nothin' but bitch about it 'fore you got to his place the other day. He's just whiny, but he'll get over it," he promised, patting his shoulder lightly. "Don't worry 'bout him, though. Worry 'bout bein' yer charmin' self and wooin' Token's folks."

He chuckled lightly, sneaking in another inhale of menthol. "You know, I don't think I'm much the _'wooing the parents'_ type."

"Ah yes because you're just _such_ the bad boy," Kenny teased, blue eyes sparkling with delight at Kyle's wry expression. "Ain't the kinda guy you take home t' Momma, right? Because you're just _such_ a rebel without a cause."

Kyle rolled his eyes, flipping him off with a small grin. "No. I just mean I'm not… _good_ at this kind of shit. Even with people I'm _actually_ dating, meeting their parents is just… I don't do well."

Kenny shrugged, "Well… you _have_ met his parents before. So ya know, it ain't _as_ bad."

"Feels worse somehow," he muttered, staring at the smoke billowing from his fingers. "If I fuck up I'm not just embarrassing myself and Token, I'm losing a goddamn paycheck."

He laughed quietly, reaching up and patting his curls. "You'll do fine, Ky. I've seen ya lie yer way through some convoluted shit before, this ain't nothin'. I believe in ya."

Kyle gave him a small smile, "And that just means the _world_ to me, Ken. Just where would I _be_ without your everlasting faith?"

"You'd have _three_ friends that think you're bein' a greedy moron for whorin' yerself out instead of only two," he reminded him with a smirk, getting a tired chuckle in return. There was definitely a level of true appreciation that he had for Kenny's nonjudgmental mentality, the one that he'd granted him all throughout their lives. It'd hit its peak after he'd came out, Ken lingering behind in Kyle's house after Stan had had to run off to work and giving him a simple reassurance: _"I don't care who you're banging. If they ain't beatin' ya and you're not just fuckin' 'em for goddamn drugs or some shit, I'll buy ya the damn condoms."_

Dealing with Stan's aggravatingly high standards for anyone he so much as looked at left a lot to be desired, luckily Kenny was always there to fulfill his need for approval and talk him out of bending his attractions to fit Stan's worldview.

"Looky looky, here comes _Loverboy_ now," Kenny cooed, Kyle following his line of sight to an immaculately waxed silver car heading down the road.

He sighed, throwing his half-finished cigarette to the ground and crushing it beneath his dress shoe. "Can I just borrow some of your irritating extraversion for tonight?"

"Hm, sorry, Babe," he teased, lightly smacking the side of Kyle's head with two fingers. "You gotta woo 'em with yer love for masturbatin' t' John Beckenstein."

"Steinbeck you moron," he rolled his eyes.

Kenny grinned, "I know. But you chose to correct _that_ and not the jerkin' off. So now it's yer canon."

He groaned loudly, running his hands down his face as Token's car pulled up in front of them. Kenny waved at him exaggeratedly, Token giving him a small one in return, lightly smirking at the obvious irritation Kenny was putting Kyle through.

Kyle dropped his hands and gave Kenny a swift punch to the ribs, watching him double over slightly and matching his line-of-sight, glaring at him. "I hope a jack breaks and drops a car on you."

"No, you don't," he cooed, bumping his shoulder. "You really wanna just hang with Stanny boy and Fatass all summer?"

He sighed, choosing to walk away rather than engage him in one of the rounds of pure ego stroking that Kenny so loved to drag out of any of the three of them.

He inwardly whined as he made it to Token's car, pulling the door open and both turning to look back at Kenny as he shouted, "You two remember to wrap it! Token, he's precious cargo so you better be a gentleman and get 'im home safe t' me!"

"Oh my _god,"_ Kyle griped, hurriedly plopping himself down into the seat and slamming the door shut, rolling his eyes at Kenny howling with laughter.

Token chuckled, looking between Kenny's continuing cackles and Kyle's exasperated expression. "Is he gonna force us into a fake shotgun wedding?"

Kyle looked at him and gave a small smile, "You know what, I wouldn't put it past him. And he'd demand to be my maid of honor so he can wear that damn peach dress he bought the other day."

He grinned, waiting for Kyle to wriggle out of his hoodie and toss it into the backseat and snap down his seatbelt before pulling away from Kenny still waving them off. "Well Clyde better pray we don't force both sides to match attire then."

Kyle snorted, giving a small nod. "Forgive my sounding like a fag extraordinaire, but Clyde could probably pull it off better than Ken. Peach is just not his color."

Token shook his head through a laugh, "Well forgive my _mirroring_ fagginess, but you're right. Dude needs blues and purples."

"Glad to know we're the resident camp gays of this damn town," Kyle smirked.

"That's Big Gay Al and Mr. Slave erasure and I will not stand for it."

Kyle's head leaned back against the headrest and he cackled, stammering out a series of semi-apologies. He glanced at Token and shook his head, "You make it _glaringly_ obvious you go to a liberal arts college, man."

"Because you wearing pants tight enough to cut off leg circulation _doesn't_?" he cocked his brow.

He pouted, "Hey. It's called my ass is my best feature, just goddamn ask Kenny."

Token shook his head, "I'd rather not. I feel like that'd be a dissertation-level discussion." Kyle laughed quietly, giving an agreeing nod. Token glanced over at him and gave him an awkward grin, "Seriously though, I _super_ appreciate you doing this for me, Dude."

The empathetic expression was immediate, "I get it, Man. My ma is the same way and it's a _nightmare_."

"Well, now we can solve _both_ of our problems this summer."

Kyle shook his head, looking out the windshield as they turned a corner to start heading up the winding street towards Token's house. "No, not really. I'm not gonna tell Ma, and just kind of pray she doesn't run into yours by chance. I'd already solved my crisis with a breakup story before you asked me to do this, last thing I need is for her to _actually_ force us into a damn wedding."

"Pretty sure my mother is already picking out invitations," Token grumbled. "When she meets, or I guess _re-_ meets you, she'll be scoping out what flowers best match our _aesthetic_ ," he rolled his eyes, a shiver running down his spine at the reminder of far too many pinned Pinterest pages that filled at least twenty meticulously organized folders on her computer.

He smirked, "Well, let's be sure to tell her I'm allergic to roses."

Token snorted, "Will do." He glanced down at the movement of slim fingers twisting around each other atop Kyle's lap, smile fading. "You nervous?"

Kyle cringed, "I'm not very good at parties, even with people I know."

"Join the club," he said lightly. "Listen, just don't kick anyone's ass and get _really_ drunk. That's the mentality I'm gonna be following."

He snorted, "I don't think you want me getting too drunk. You think I'm loud now? Take away my inhibitions and you'll be grateful you can afford a hearing aid."

Chuckling, he gave him a slight nod, "I can't say that surprises me. Listen, I need to forewarn you," he said, voice dropping lower, "we're gonna be shoved off with the other kids and they are… _special._ "

"Spoiled first world problem types?" he asked, waving off Token's somber nod, and leaning his cheek into his palm, eyes drifting to watch the crest of Token's house over the next hill and forcing a deep breath. May not be more than a mile and a half from his own house, but the grandeur in comparison to his family's simple two-bed, two-baths made it seem like they'd left the county. "If I can deal with Cartman's bragging about his iPhone upgrades for three weeks straight, I can handle hoity-toity rich kids and their bragging about their third pony or whatever."

"Ponies aren't actually that expensive," Token shrugged. "Usually a little over two grand but-"

"Token, you're not helping your whole 'I'm just like you guys' shtick you're always claiming knowing these things," Kyle drawled, getting an embarrassed laugh in return. "So, what, I should be expecting fully paid trips to Tokyo stories or some shit?"

He nodded, "On the lower end, yeah. Again just… _drink_ ," he emphasized. "Honestly if this is too much for you-"

Kyle shook his head, cracking his knuckles. "No, I'll be fine. I'll try to not knock their teeth in."

"That's all I ask," he murmured. "The _good news_ is you could probably straight-up tell my mother you got kicked out of school for murdering your last boyfriend and she'd still trip over herself making sure you have enough food," he rolled his eyes.

He snorted, "Well, that's more a _third date_ revelation." His small grin slipped a tad as they breached the hill, coming upon a long driveway packed with luxury cars and more spilling out into the street along the curb.

Token groaned, shaking his head. "I was gone only a goddamn half hour. Just _love_ not being able to park near my own damn house."

Kyle bit his lip, "More than I was expecting," he said quietly.

Token managed to swing his car in a space at the end of the line along the curb, turning to look at Kyle and wincing. "You've never _seemed_ the shy type," he observed, the small joke falling on deaf, nervous ears. "I can take you home if-"

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Kyle held up his hands, brows scrunching. "Just… really wish you hadn't banned my nicotine intake," he muttered, moving to fight out of his seatbelt and pushing open the car door.

He cringed, following suit and standing on the street, watching Kyle from over the roof of the car. "I know, I'm sorry. I can get you plenty of vodka to compensate if that helps?"

Kyle cracked another small smirk and nodded as Token walked around the car and stood beside him, giving him a light elbow against his arm, "I'm gonna hold you to that."

Token smiled crookedly at him before they both looked towards the looming mansion and took long, steady breaths. Neither seemed willing to move until Token groaned under his breath and finally took the lead, Kyle taking long strides to keep alongside him.

"Any last-minute advice?" Kyle murmured as they crossed onto the landscaped lawn.

"Keep away from religion and politics," he shrugged.

Kyle's face dropped wryly, "What if they ask me about my major? Want me to lie? I can _probably_ bullshit my way through an American history major."

Token shook his head, "My parents have enough of an issue with my European history, so steer clear of it. _'It's just memorizing dates after all,'"_ he mocked his father with a dramatic eye roll.

"What the _shit_."

"Don't get me started," he held up his hand, brow furrowing in frustration and unwilling to let himself dwell in that massive pile of bullshittery for the rest of the night; he had enough to worry about. "You don't need to lie about yourself or any of that, just..."

He smirked, "Don't be myself and get locked in a debate with someone."

"I mean, depends on the situation but... Yeah," he winced, getting a knowing snort and nod out of him and sighing in relief. He supposed he shouldn't be too worried; Kyle wasn't exactly one for making himself a nuisance unless someone _really_ offended him. And even then, he doubted that Kyle would feel too comfortable letting loose and hopping on a soapbox when surrounded by strangers and already caught in an awkward enough situation.

"I'll do my best, but no guarantees if someone gets too _Republican_ with me."

"Listen, I'm not gonna stop you if someone a dick, but if people merely being Republicans is a problem for you, you're about to walk into your worst nightmare," Token drawled as they came up to the front step, hand grasping the doorknob and heaving a deep sigh. "Ready?"

Kyle gulped but nodded, "Ready as I can be," he murmured, biting his lip as Token pulled open the door and gestured for him to step in front. He did so, eyes widening at the crystal chandelier dangling from the ceiling of the massive foyer. It'd been many a year since he'd stepped foot in Token's house. Or perhaps not _so many_ years, as it was only his senior year of high school since the last party he'd hosted, but he'd came in with Stan, Ken, and Cartman high as a kite and unable to fully grasp any level of grandeur.

Token stepped in behind him and shut the door, ears perking at the sound of chatter and silverware hitting plates and he drooped, already beyond exhausted. He glanced up, the fatigue hitting another peak as his eye caught the woman all but shoving over guests to get to the door with a beaming grin sliced up through her face. _"Oh my god, Mother_ ," he muttered under his breath.

"Helloooo!" Linda sang, Kyle almost flinching from being torn from staring at the décor and blinking at the woman barreling towards him.

" _Mom_ ," Token snapped, blinking as she ignored him and met Kyle face-to-face.

"Oh, _Kyle_ , it's _so good_ to see you again!" she said, grabbing Kyle's hands.

He blinked in surprise at the tight, ecstatic grip on his fingers before smiling back shyly. "Good to see you, too, Mrs. Black."

"No, no," she shook her head, relinquishing his hands and moving beside him, wrapping an arm around his upper back and beginning to lead him into the fray. "You call me _Linda_ , understand?"

He cleared his throat and nodded, feeling Token trailing behind them in aggravation. "You'll have to forgive me if I slip on that now and then," he parried off politely. "Way I was raised and whatnot..." he trailed off, seeing her expectant brow and coughing slightly, " _Linda_." She grinned approvingly, giving him a squeeze around his back and a part of him couldn't help but inwardly laugh at a joking thought, ' _Man, already further than Token and I have gotten'._

"Can you _believe_ Token almost made you _drive here yourself?"_ She scoffed, shooting her son yet another disappointed grimace and being met with an annoyed scowl.

"That wasn't a problem," Kyle insisted, eyes nervously scanning the crowd as a few bystanders watched curiously as Linda nearly bulldozed their way through the crowd. "He knows I like to drive and wasn't gonna take that away from me," he lied. "But I still appreciate that he came to get me."

She nodded, finally allowing them to come to a stop in the middle of the living room. "It's the _polite_ thing to do," she said firmly.

"Mom, will you _let go of him_?" Token hissed, stomach twisting with dread. He could see the excitement boiling over, half-expecting her to hop onto the middle of the buffet table with Kyle and make an announcement to the room, introducing him as her goddamn future son-in-law.

Kyle's thought process wasn't far off, giving discomforted smiles to guests who found themselves distracted by the object of their hostess' sudden diverted attention. He could only call it a thrall of people, a good thirty people spread out across an ornately decorated living room in clustered groups of three or more either happily chomping their way through crudités and chatting away or looking back at him. He wondered if they thought he was someone of important financial standing that Linda was desperate to impress, a twenty-some year old billionaire standing here in his J-mart sweater vest and the pressed dress shirt he'd had stuffed in the back of his closet since Ike's bar mitzvah.

Token finally lost his patience with his mother still clasping around Kyle's back and rambling her way through her utter glee of him being able to attend, reaching to grip Kyle's shoulders and gently tear him out of her grasp with a frown. "Mom, c'mon."

She waved him off dismissively, all her consideration still focused on the man feeling more and more torn between completely out of place and the utter center of attention. "I honestly wasn't sure Token would even invite you," she drawled, putting her hand back on Kyle's arm and Kyle holding back a smirk at Token's hands still around his shoulders tightening in annoyance before finally relinquishing their hold.

"Well, I'm glad he did," Kyle said, "thanks for letting him invite me."

"Oh, Honey, of _course_ we're happy to have you!" she insisted, Kyle unable to figure out if she was outdoing even the enthusiasm his _own_ mother would have if he'd finally brought someone home.

Probably would be a fairly even level of overly-supportive motherly giddiness from what he could tell.

"Kyle!" another voice came towards them from the other end of the couch behind them, their heads twisting and Token immediately beginning to mutter in aggravation under his breath. Kyle straightened up at Token's dad taking long strides to get to their little group, a deep part of him wanting to turn and run from such immediate parental attention on both sides. He couldn't say he was shocked, but he really expected at least a _momentary_ reprieve between them. "Glad you could make it," Steven smiled, holding his hand out.

Kyle pivoted to meet his stance and gripped his palm, giving him a firm two shakes and smiling. "Thanks for having me, Mr. Black."

"You're shorter than I remember!"

" _Dad_ …" Token warned through his teeth.

Kyle snorted lightly, pulling his hand back and tucking a curl behind his ear, "Yeah, I get that a lot." Far _too_ often if he was being honest.

"We're sorry about the food!" Linda suddenly blurted, both Kyle and Token recoiling slightly.

Kyle blinked, "I'm… I'm sorry?"

Her face immediately fell into distress, gesturing wildly towards the catering table. "We don't know what's kosher, we didn't discuss it with the caterers and didn't even _think about it_ until an hour ago and-"

Kyle stopped her, holding his hands up and chuckling awkwardly, "No, no. It's fine. I don't observe kashrut more than a few weeks a year."

Her dismay fell in the slightest, guilt still prevalent over her face. "Really? Because we can _absolutely_ ask them to make you something else," she said, missing Token slapping his palm over his face and dragging it down his profile with a long, irritated groan.

"No, please, that's unnecessary," Kyle shook his head. "At school, I'd go out every Friday and get a bacon cheeseburger and milkshake, so trust me, it is _not_ a big deal."

Linda's relief was almost contagious as fluidly as it fell over her, patting Kyle's arm. "So long as you're sure, Honey," returning his expression as he shot her a kind, reassuring smile.

"The other kids are out on the patio," Steve jerked his head towards the French doors through the adjoining kitchen. "We need to go make chit-chat with the Edwards'," he muttered, placing a hand on Linda's lower back and both of them sighing and rolling their eyes.

"All right," Token said in relief, putting a hand on Kyle's shoulder and starting to push him away from their wrath. "Don't kill Danielle, Mom, we'll see ya around." He quickly began leading Kyle away from them, hearing her mutter a low _"no promises"_ as they escaped.

He stopped them at the end of the food table out of earshot, sighing and scratching through his hair, Kyle turning to look up at him with an amused smirk. "I'm so. Sorry." He mumbled.

Kyle snorted, giving him a reassuring pat on his arm, "Dude, it wasn't that bad. Honestly? If it was _my parents_ , you'd be sat down and force fed while my mother rambled off a novella's worth of questions."

"If it weren't for all the other people here, so would _you_ ," Token smirked, relaxing at the genuineness of Kyle's nonchalance. "Seriously, though, my mother was right, despite the dramatics. _Probably_ shoulda asked you about the food thing."

He rolled his eyes amusedly and scanning over the smorgasbord beside them, "I'm sure there's plenty here that I could've munched on if I cared that much."

Token cocked his brow, "I'm honestly surprised you _don't_ care that much."

Kyle gave a lighthearted snort, "Just because I'm proud of who I am doesn't mean I'm gonna bend over backwards for a damn dietary restriction every day. Besides, if God really wanted me to follow kashrut, He wouldn't have made shrimp alfredo so damn delicious." Token chuckled and Kyle elbowed him. "Now. You promised me booze."

"And after how you handled those two, you _deserve it_ ," Token grinned, stepping off and leading him into the kitchen.

Kyle's breath let out a little easier being led out of the fray before losing it altogether at the size and wonder of Token's kitchen. Cherrywood cabinets and black granite countertops shone from immaculate care, a massive double fridge all but beckoned him to come and look at what he could only imagine was a vast array of ingredients he could only afford once in a blue moon. "Holy _shit_ ," he said, his hands clasping in front of his chest in wonder.

Token turned and smirked a bit embarrassedly at his awestruck expression, green eyes gleaming in a fit of excitement and envy against the LED lights. "You all right over there?"

" _I'm in love_ ," he whispered, looking over at Token's stovetop and nearly squealing in glee at the array of eight spider burners so cruelly being denied their purpose.

"Screwdriver?" Token asked, seeing Kyle too infatuated to bartend and getting a slow, mindless nod and smirking, moving to the counter packed with liquor bottles to make their drinks. "Listen if you're gonna hump my countertops can you at least wait until the party's over?"

"No promises," Kyle murmured, slowly stepping over to the left-side counter and admiring the array of knife blocks, shuddering with envy.

Token hummed, pouring himself a whiskey neat before moving to start on Kyle's drink. "Didn't know you were so hot for kitchenware."

"You have _no_ idea," he said, finally forcing himself to tear away from looking around until he actually _did_ start snooping through things and making a mess of his damn dress slacks. He made way to beside Token, smiling gratefully as he handed him his glass and making quick work to down it.

"Uh, take a breath?" Token urged.

Kyle pulled the glass from his lips, already down three-quarters of the way and grabbing the ingredients to top himself off. "We're goin' out to Snooty Village, aren't we?" he asked.

Token paused but nodded in understanding and making good to follow his lead, taking a shot of his whiskey and nearly coughing up a lung as it burned its way down to his esophagus.

A light hand patted his back and Kyle couldn't stop snickering. "I'm guessin' that's a sippin' whiskey," he teased.

"Yeah," he rasped, thumping a fist against his chest to try to finish his choking as Kyle helpfully reached past him to refill his glass for him. "If I choke to death though, I won't have to deal with them."

"Ohhhhh no, you're not leaving me and my middle-class ass alone with those people," Kyle scoffed, pushing his tumbler into his open palm. "Would it be out of line to bring the alcohol with us?"

"Nope," Token said, grabbing his bottle and watching Kyle do the same, taking a deep breath through his aching lungs and pivoting on his heel to face the door. "Ready?"

Kyle shook the vodka and nodded, "Ready as I'll ever be."

Token nodded sharply, leading him to the door and pushing it open, allowing Kyle to step out in front of him and face falling in exhaustion already as he followed him and closed the door behind him, seeing the faces of far too many familiar _"peers"_.

"Tokennn!" a woman called from the closet patio seat and waved. "Look at _you_!"

"Hello, Patricia," Token greeted, taking the lead once more and guiding Kyle to two empty seats along one of the couple's glass patio tables placed along the cement in two organized rows. "How are you?"

"Fan _tastic_ ," she beamed, using a French-tipped acrylic nail to flick off a wandering mosquito along her wrist. "Just got home from New York, _love it_. Missing my apartment, though," she sighed dramatically.

Token could almost _hear_ Kyle's eyes rolling.

"And just _who_ is this with you?" a brunet man at the table across from them asked, gesturing to Kyle, eyeing his attire with a critical expression as they took a seat.

"Hi to you, too, Brandon. Everyone, this is Kyle," Token explained, gesturing to him as he waved awkwardly with his bottle-holding hand.

"And he is…?" Brandon urged.

Kyle took a sip of his drink and leaned back, expression and tone casual as ever as he said, "I'm Token's boyfriend. Nice to meet you."

A momentary silence fell over the patio, eyes turning to Token in surprise. He cleared his throat and nodded, taking a sip of his whiskey and his eyes turning down. He knew he wasn't going to try to pass Kyle off as his straight buddy tonight, had even told Kyle earlier that week that he didn't plan on hiding it from anyone, he just also didn't know how it was going to go down.

" _Really?"_ Brandon finally spoke.

"Aww," the blonde woman sitting next to him cooed. "How long have you been together?"

Token winced. He felt like being honest and telling them _"six days"_ wouldn't go over well. Seemed too _early_ for a boyfriend label. But he couldn't think of appropriate timeframes, unsure of what seemed _reasonable_ and-

"Five months," Kyle answered for him with another nonchalant sip of his vodka. "Grew up together, got together over our last holiday break and been doing the whole long-distance thing since then."

Token merely nodded vigorously in agreement, unable to understand how Kyle was so fucking _casual_ about this. He felt like at any minute, goddamn Cartman was going to burst through the landscaped bushes and call them out and make them the object of the night's ridicule. He paused. Then again, Kyle _had_ said this wasn't his first fake-out romp. Practice made perfect, he assumed.

"Aww," she repeated, "that's so sweet! Love next door all along, it's like a Meg Ryan movie."

"Well," Brandon smirked, taking a long sip of his cognac, "maybe not _next door_. Maybe… from the wrong side of the tracks."

Token stiffened as Kyle's brow furrowed in the slightest. "Excuse me?"

He waved his hand towards him lazily, "Your whole… _ensemble_."

"I think he looks _cute_ ," Patricia interjected. "Like… like a thrift-shop librarian."

Kyle blinked, glancing at Token who groaned and shook his head, shooting him an apologetic look. "It's a compliment," he half-heartedly assured him.

"Oh, it _is_!" she insisted. "I wish _I_ had the confidence to just wear anything I can find!"

"Oh my god," Token muttered, catching the agitated tapping of Kyle's fingers against his crossed arms. He should've waited. Should've just had Kyle over to goddamn dinner with his parents and dealt with his mother panicking over whether she should've served goddamn matzah.

A well-built man at the table next to them leaned over towards Kyle, eyeing him up and down and grinning. "Hi, I'm William," he introduced himself, reaching over to shake Kyle's hand. "Patricia's right, you're hot enough to pull it off, _regardless_ of the brand."

"Hey. William," Token drawled, breaking from his embarrassment into annoyance. "Did ya _miss_ the part about him being _my_ boyfriend? Wanna back up a tad, there?"

William scoffed, turning his attention back to a very confused Kyle. "You should be with someone who'd dress you to the nines," he insisted. "One afternoon with me, and I'll have you ready to show off to the town by six."

Kyle frowned, defenses rising but inner voice yelling to remember why he was here in the first place. He shot a look at Token, who granted him a short, permissive nod. Starting a debate with one of his dad's clients or his parents would be problematic, but he _definitely_ wasn't going to stop Kyle from defending himself against this level of bullshit. Kyle turned back to face William and straightened up haughtily, "Token _likes_ how I'm comfortable enough with myself to not feel like I need to hide behind expensive fabric. And so do I."

William pouted, "A well-tailored suit would _show off_ your body, like you _should_ ," he said, leaning over the side of his chair and way too far into Kyle's personal space for comfort. "It's a _crime_ to hide _your_ figure under that… _frumpiness_."

He frowned deeper as his stomach twisted uncomfortably, planting his worn shoes on the cement and scooting his chair backwards closer to Token. He reached down and subtly tapped Token's arm. Token took his cue, reaching up to wrap around his shoulder and pull him closer. "Back _off_ , Will," Token warned, shaking his head to himself at both the notion of how his mother had wanted him to pursue a relationship with this fucktard, and how he hadn't quite accounted for putting Kyle through _this_ level of uneasiness.

"Didn't know cheap twinks were your thing, William. Or even _yours,_ Token," Brandon sniggered from behind his glass, ignoring the contemptuous scowls that flashed over Token and Kyle's faces.

The blonde with him glared, "Don't be homophobic, Brandon," she lectured.

He scoffed, offended. "I'm not _homophobic_ , Anna."

"Noooo," Kyle said flatly, brow hiking. "You're just aporophobic."

Brandon frowned at him, "Big word for what I assume is a community college education."

"Fuck off, Brandon," Token snapped.

"Whitman, actually," Kyle responded coolly beside Token's fuming, calmly refilling his vodka to the top of his glass. "And my mommy and daddy didn't pay to get me in," he smiled with a scathing sweetness that dominated the patio.

A few stifled snickers filled the air as Brandon's face twisted in anger. "And just what is _that_ supposed to imply?"

"Small level of comprehension for someone who likes to throw education levels around as a means to disrespect someone," Kyle cocked his brow. "Do you need me to spell it out a little easier for you?"

Brandon twisted his head to Token, who found himself caught between wanting so dearly to avoid a conflict and utterly amused with the show before him as he unwrapped from around Kyle's shoulders. "Aren't gold diggers supposed to _impress_ the _better person's_ peers? Maybe tighten the leash a bit before having him in public with you, Token. It's not a good look."

Token's amusement immediately fell, brow knitting in anger. "Just because the only way _you_ get dates is to advertise yourself as a fucking sugar daddy doesn't mean the _rest of us_ do so."

"Clever," he muttered, downing the rest of his cognac and getting to his feet, shooting Kyle a dirty glance on his way back into the kitchen for a refill.

"Ugh," Patricia rolled her eyes. "Why does he start something _everywhere_ he goes?"

Token shook his head, "Because he just _has_ to be the center of attention." He turned to Kyle who was slowly sipping his way through his vodka and winced. "You okay?"

The glass dropped from his lips and he cocked a small, amused brow. "As much shit as I've dealt with in my life, being insulted for my fucking _class_ is like, on the _bottom_ of the annoyance list." He leaned closer to Token and dropped his voice, "Do you need me to cool it down, though?" He knew himself too damn well to think that if that asshole hadn't left the area, he would've been on his feet wanting to see if Brandon could use his fucking wallet as a guard against a well-placed left hook.

He imagined that would _definitely_ discourage Token from continuing their arrangement.

Token smiled and shook his head, "No," he said softly. "None of these people goddamn matter, not like their parents will drop my dad as their attorney just because someone _hurt their feewings_." Kyle snorted, nodding in understanding and turning back forward in his chair, taking a long breath of slight relief past his cup as he raised it to his lips.

Token smirked, lightly shaking his head and turning foggy attention back to Patricia launching her way into another visitation on her dismay at the tragedy of having to leave her apartment for a whole two months while it was renovated. He was no fool, everything could have gone to Hell in no time flat had Kyle not maintained a level of composure. He'd seen a lifetime of Kyle's violent reactions to someone trying to back him into a corner, verbally or otherwise.

He had to admit; he was impressed.

"Token?" an insistent voice invaded his half-cocked consideration and he jolted upright.

"Sorry?" he blinked.

Anna laughed, rolling eyes that were nearly invisable under Lilly Lashes. "I _saaaiiid_ , what did you do in school? I remember last year you wouldn't stop _yelling_ about calculus."

His nose scrunched, immediately grabbing his whiskey bottle and topping off his tumbler. "Why does a history major need math?!" he complained, wrought once more with the trauma from a semester of logarithms, the group snickering quietly and nodding in agreement.

"So, better this year?" she teased.

He pouted, taking a slow swig and shrugging. "Sorta. Had to do a fucking thirty page paper on the goddamn Savoyard-Waldensian wars for one of my classes. Worst week of my life so far," he rolled his eyes, looking back down to a pond of confused faces and shying down awkwardly.

Kyle turned, smiling a bit, "Forty years in thirty pages, huh? Ya skimp?"

Token met his gaze, brow cocking in slight surprise, but lip quirking into a smirk. "Thirty-five, actually."

"Listen, I know you're afraid of math, but it's called _rounding_ , smart ass. Weird war for one of your classes to focus on though."

He snorted, "We all had to write a different conflict. We _literally_ picked them out of a goddamn hat."

Kyle chuckled, "Man, got the short end of the stick there, huh? The whole Protestant and Catholic thing is just _so_ cliche."

"Is your minor European studies or some shit?" he asked, grinning in pleasant surprise.

"No," he shook his head, tilting his glass in his hand. "I did a course on politics and Christianity and cited it in one of my papers. One of those things where I just needed it as an example and it spiraled into a Wiki rabbit hole," he rolled his eyes at himself. "Had to get an extension on that shit I got so distracted. Like, right the fuck _on,_ Waldensians. Always gotta root for the rebels, man, regardless of their… _Protestancy_."

Token nodded vigorously, pivoting slightly in his chair to face him more head-on. "Right? It's so fucking stupid but you can't stop reading about it. Like, okay, you're right, it's a cliché, but an entire _valley_ just being ransacked during _Easter_ _week_ and then turning around and coming from behind is just-"

"What the _fuck_ are you talking about?" William broke in, both turning to see him staring in utter bewilderment and the girls talking amongst themselves excitedly, completely removed from the conversation at hand.

They winced, Token clearing his throat, "It's uh… it's not important," he muttered.

Kyle frowned, looking at William, "Well if you were _listening_ , it was pretty easy to pick up what it's about. I know it's not blatantly hitting on me, since it actually _has_ my interest, but you could still just listen or ask questions. What exactly are _you_ studying?"

"Business management," he said with a sly grin, leaning back towards him.

"Of _course_ you are," he scoffed, eyes rolling.

"Yeah," he said, completely missing his tone and casually stretching. "Gonna be my own boss, have my own place. Learning how to really… _take charge_ ," he purred, bumping his brows at him.

Kyle stared at him in boredom, "Just owning a generic 'place', huh? Wow. So ambitious."

He smirked, shrugging. "Fiery, aren't ya? I just like to go where life takes me..." He leaned forward and grinned, "Maybe you could follow me there?"

"Ya know, I go where life takes me, too," Token said dryly, "and mine is taking me to between the two of you so you'll get the fuck out of his space." He got to his feet, taking his chair with him and moving to sit on Kyle's other side, ignoring William's tipsy protests and planting himself between them with his back turned towards William.

Kyle smiled gratefully, "Thank you."

"Dude," he said lowly, leaning towards him, "I am _so_ sorry. I expected you know…"

"A sea of Brandons and not a guy who really needs to take flirting lessons from Ken?" he smirked at Token's guilty nod. Kyle snorted, "Honestly? This is preferable. Least no one can call me a classist if I punch that guy in that balls."

Token shook his head, "No, don't put your hand that close to his junk. He'll think you're a slut who can't keep your hands off him."

Kyle chuckled, looking over Token's shoulder to see William pouting and turning to join in on the girls' discussion in defeat. "I may be a slut, but even _I'm_ not _that_ desperate."

Token was taken aback, breaking into laughter. "Awfully candid."

He grinned, shaking his drink. "I told you, drinkin' _ruins_ my inhibitions," he said, taking an emphasizing swig. "So, your parents gonna be pissed we're not really socializing out here?"

"I got you as an excuse," he reminded him, clinking his tumbler against Kyle's glass. "So, I think they'll be okay with me not hearing about Anna's Mercedes being detailed. So, thank you."

Kyle laughed, "Happy to help. So. C'mon, tell me about your paper," he rolled his hand between them and leaned his elbows on the table to listen intently. "I _really_ only know like, the _outline_ of the fight," he admitted with a sheepish shrug. Token's face twisted into surprised at his genuine interest and he tucked a curl behind his ear. "I like history. I was actually _really_ close to majoring in military history as my third choice."

Token squinted, knowing the whiskey was working against him but still trying to do the math. "What was your second choice?"

Kyle looked down into his drink, shoulders rolling and lips twisting. "Politics," he muttered.

"…Wait," he closed his eyes, trying to keep up. "Then what did you decide _not_ to do?"

He shook his head, "I really don't wanna get into it," he said, looking up and Token blinking at such a thick layer of disappointment over his face before he shed it with another long sip of vodka. "Seriously, your paper. Tell me," he nodded in encouragement.

Token hesitated, a part of him wanting to push on the subject but, he reminded himself, it _really_ wasn't his business. So, instead he complied, an alcohol-fueled mind slurring a mess of French names and kicking off into a ramble as he found his footing. Kyle kept his attention forward on him, nodding and sipping away, face red from vodka and green eyes glazed in the fading sunlight but interest staying piqued. Token had tried to tell the guys about his paper, nothing but a hurried synopsis, but had been shut down in a mere ten words by a feigned yawn from Clyde and Jimmy breaking into a joke about the French. He wondered if maybe he was talking too much here, if Kyle was sitting there counting every minute of their conversation as a dollar amount.

The thought passed as an inebriated, yet relevant question passed through Kyle's lips about the Confession of Faith, encouraging him to expand on what he felt like he'd already been blathering about for ten minutes. It nearly threw him off entirely, replaying the question in his brain on a loop and searching for sarcastic inflection, not recognizing anything and eyes refocusing to a very intent Kyle staring up at him with his chin resting over the mouth of his glass.

Token's face heated at the attention, the background noise of the group behind them and a returning, angry Brandon fading off and away like the loud echoes of his parents' feigned laughter from inside the house as he pressed forward with his rant, Kyle nodding along and smiling warmly at his rampant enthusiasm. Token grinned back, pushing his glass away and leaning on the table to be closer to his eye level as he prattled on.

Yeah, he thought, laughing softly at Kyle almost slipping off the glass under his head. His parents' flanking and the few assholes they'd dealt with aside, this _definitely_ could have been worse.


End file.
